


Tribe Sentinel

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-03
Updated: 1998-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By helping a couple in trouble, Jim and Blair are finally able to put the events of SenToo behind them.<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into three parts.

## Tribe Sentinel

by Annabelle Leigh

Disclaimers: The characters from The Sentinel do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for a little non-profit romance and adventure. No copyright infringement intended. Ideas about the nature and healing of psychological trauma, attributed to a character in the story, are taken from TRAUMA AND RECOVERY (HarperCollins, 1992) by Dr. Judith Lewis Herman, M.D. "Final Notations" by Adrienne Rich from AN ATLAS OF THE DIFFICULT WORLD (W.W. Norton & Co., 1991) is quoted without permission. Again, no copyright infringement is intended, and no profit of any kind is being made. 

Notes: Special thanks to Tex for her most excellent beta reading. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. 

Warnings: Spoilers for SenToo, m/m, a little m/f (not involving J or B!), h/c, not especially graphic depiction of psychological torture, violence. 

* * *

Tribe Sentinel - part one 

As a cop, Jim Ellison had always had the ability to step outside circumstances and see the bigger picture, with fresh eyes and a renewed sense of perspective. Sometimes, it was a damned lucky skill to have. Sometimes, it kicked in at the least opportune moment possible. Like in the middle of chasing down a dangerous fugitive, an extremely disturbed mental patient escaped from the Conover facility. Still, he couldn't help thinking the whole operation was a study in overkill. Half the Cascade PD were in pursuit, and there was enough firepower to win a minor military skirmish trained on one desperate, terrified, seemingly unarmed woman. How was that right? 

//Jesus, Ellison, get a hold of yourself. You're beginning to sympathize with the other team.// 

It was just that she didn't look like a deranged lunatic who'd pickaxed her husband. 

Still. 

He knew people weren't always what they appeared. He'd learned that the first year on the job. You thought you knew what evil looked like. You assumed it conformed to all your prejudices, that you'd just know it when you'd see it. But nothing could be more untrue. You quickly found that evil came in a variety of packages, some more outwardly expressive of the inner hideousness than others, but all of it evil, just the same. 

He'd been taught that lesson by a cold-blooded killer, his first child murder case, never far from his nightmares. The whole time they'd been investigating the series of sickening crimes involving the abduction, torture and drowning of grade school kids he'd imagined the killer's face--reptilian eyes beading with malice, greasy hair, contorted features, disgusting, pasty flesh, Beelzebub incarnated. The person they ended up apprehending looked like he'd just stepped out of a Hollywood movie, the all-American boy, blond, clean cut, big innocent blue eyes. He'd used those wholesome good looks and his mild-mannered demeanor to gain the children's trust and lure them to their deaths. 

After they'd handcuffed the guy and Jim was putting him in the back of the patrol car, the perp had flashed him the most beatific expression he'd ever seen, a knockout of a grin, the perfect features lighting up with the power of a thousand suns, a million-dollar smile. And then Jim's mind had flashed on images of the children's bodies, blue and bloated and icy as the grave. He'd shoved the bastard the rest of the way into the car, not worrying whether he banged his head, wanting to throw up. It had been a lesson well-taught, and he'd never forgotten it. 

He tried to tell himself that's what was going on here. A small, pretty blond woman didn't fit his notion of a crazed ax murderer. //But she _did_ hack her husband to death. Don't forget that. And she was cunning enough to escape. And another attractive blond woman nearly ended your world, so never underestimate them.// 

Still. 

They had her cornered on the roof of the Lorden Towers, a high-rise office building in downtown Cascade. There was no telling why she'd been drawn there. Most likely there was no rational explanation. According to Dr. Smith, who had been in charge of her treatment at Conover and had reported her disappearance, she was delusional and disoriented, prone to violent psychotic breaks with reality. Of course, she'd had enough sense to find street clothes somewhere. And she'd managed to make it this far, bypassing security to get up to the roof which was supposed to have restricted access. //Crazy doesn't mean stupid.// 

The woman was trying to hide behind an air conditioning duct on the far side of the roof. The cops were hanging back at a safe distance, for the moment, taking precautions in case she had a concealed weapon, giving negotiation a chance before moving in with force. She was too far away for anybody else to see her clearly, but Jim could monitor her with his Sentinel sight. He could see she was shaking. He narrowed his vision and focused on her face. Her pupils were dilated, and she appeared to be under the effect of some kind of drug. 

"I'd like to be the one to talk to her, Captain. I've been working with her for a while. I might be able to get through to her," Dr. Smith said. 

Simon nodded. "Go ahead. We've got you covered." 

"If this doesn't work, I'm afraid...you have to understand, Captain, she's far too volatile and potentially dangerous to leave this roof not in custody." 

"Why don't you leave it to us, Doctor? We'll bring her in one way or another, but we don't make it a habit of shooting unarmed women. Not when there are other options." Jim couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. There was just something about this guy that irked him. He had the kind of cool, detached smugness that Jim always associated with psychiatrists and didn't like one little bit. 

"She seems more scared than anything else," Blair ventured quietly. 

"If you'd seen the photographs of what she did to her husband, you'd think differently," the doctor said snidely. 

Simon cleared his throat. "Are you ready, Doctor?" 

He nodded and took a couple of steps forward. "Elizabeth? It's Dr. Smith. I want to talk to you. I know you've been making progress lately, but you still need to be at the hospital, getting treatment. Remember what happened to your husband? I know you're sorry about it and would never want to do anything like that again. But you're not well enough yet to be sure you won't. Are you, Elizabeth? Think about your husband. We don't want a repeat of that, do we?" 

Jim watched her face contort at the doctor's words. Absolute horror. She fled to the edge of the building and over the side. 

"Shit! Nice fucking technique, Doctor," Jim shouted at the man, pushing him out of the way. 

He ran to the spot where she'd gone over and looked down. Thankfully, she was huddled on a narrow ledge a few feet below, eyes closed, tears streaming down her face, rocking very slightly, talking to herself in desperate, broken phrases. 

"How could I...I didn't mean to, I couldn't have, oh God...but I did, I did it. I'm so, so sorry. God help me. My poor, poor Sam. Oh God, how could I?" 

"Is she..." Blair asked, voice anxious and Sentinel soft, from a few yards behind him. 

He turned around. "She seems to be okay. She landed on a ledge just a little ways down. I can reach her. But I don't want to scare her and make her fall. I'm going to try to talk to her and see if I can get her to trust me. Maybe I can get her to let me pull her back up." 

Blair nodded, inching forward a little, eyes peeled on Jim, watching for any signs of a zone out, the last thing they'd need under the circumstances. 

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, can you hear me?" he asked. 

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her face was filled with agony and remorse, and it was like staring into a mirror. He knew that look, recognized those feelings, the very same ones he'd had for three months, ever since he'd found Blair in that fountain, dead, if only for a few moments, and all of it his fault. 

"He gave me everything," she said. "And I...oh God...look how I repaid him. I don't know how I could have. I loved him so much. I really did. He was a good man. And he saved me. He gave me my life back and my sanity and a reason to go on. He trusted me. But I didn't deserve it. And I don't deserve to live either, not after I did such a terrible, terrible thing. I can still see the blood. On my hands. His blood. To remind me I'm guilty. That's why it doesn't come off. Can you see it?" 

She held her hands up for him to see, staring at them herself, both mesmerized and repelled. 

"It never, never comes off." 

"I don't think you meant to hurt him, Elizabeth," he said in his most gentle voice. 

"But I did hurt him. Very badly. I...killed him." 

"I don't think you meant to." 

She shook her head so violently he worried she was going to topple off. "How could you know?" 

"Because I can hear how sorry you are." 

She sobbed, "I _am_ sorry. Very, very sorry. I don't _think_ I meant to do it. It gets hard to remember. But he's still...and I'm so sad." 

"I can see that too. And you know what? _I_ think you deserve forgiveness." 

She became agitated. "No! It was a bad, bad, horrible thing I did. There's no forgiveness. Not for that." 

"But you're sorry. I can see how sorry you are. And I know you wouldn't have done it if your judgment hadn't been clouded. If you had been thinking clearly." 

Her face twisted with concentration, trying to make sense of it. "My mind hurts when I try to think about it. There's just the blood. See? It's on my hands." 

"You see, Elizabeth? It's unclear in your own head. That's why I don't think you ever meant to hurt him. It was more like an accident, a terrible accident. And now you're really, really sorry about it. And people who are really sorry deserve forgiveness." 

"Do you forgive me?" she asked in a broken, shaky voice that anyone else would not have heard. 

"Yes, Elizabeth, I do. And I'd like you to come back to the roof and go on living and get better and try to forgive yourself. Because I'm sure that's what your husband would have wanted." 

She nodded. "Sam would have wanted that. He was such a good man. I guess I could try. For him." 

"Okay, Elizabeth, that's great. Now, all I need you to do is give me your hand, and I'll help you back up. Okay? Do it for your husband. Just give me your hand." 

She blinked at him, still slightly dazed, but slowly understanding what he wanted her to do. She reached out tentatively with her hand. 

"That's right, Elizabeth. I've got you now. I'm going to pull you up. Just hold on." 

He almost had her over the wall when the doctor moved between them and reached out for her hand. 

"Let me help you, Elizabeth." 

"NOOOOOO!!!!" It was the most bloodcurdling scream Jim had ever heard. 

She pulled away violently and fell backwards, barely catching the edge of the ledge, nearly plunging to her death. He watched her struggle to pull herself back up to safety. Once there, she lay completely still, face down, only her back rising and falling with her labored breath. He could hear her muttering disjointedly to herself. 

"Not going back there. Not going back there. It's a bad place. Makes my head crazy. Can't make me do bad things. Can't make me. Can't make me. Rather die. Rather die." 

He slammed the doctor into a nearby wall and got in his face. "You fucker, you asshole! What the hell do you think you're doing? I told you this is a police matter, and we'll handle it. Our way. You got that Doctor?" 

"Jim!" he felt a light touch on his arm, his Guide's warm, gentle hand. 

He let go of the doctor. "Ramsey, get this idiot out of here and make sure he stays back." 

The uniformed officer came forward and took the doctor unceremoniously by the collar, manhandling him back behind the police lines. 

"Are you okay, man? You seem a little involved here. What's going on with you, Jim?" 

He only shook his head, unsure how to answer. How could he tell his Guide that he understood this kind of pain all too well, that he empathized with this woman who'd destroyed the one thing she most treasured. How could he tell his Guide how sorry he was and have him really believe it? 

"No matter what she's done, Chief, I just...I don't want to see this end badly." 

Blair nodded. "I'm down with that. Do you think you can reach her again?" 

He shrugged wearily. "I don't know. But I've got to try." 

"Okay, man. I'm with you." 

She lay in the same position, unmoving, whispering the same disconnected thoughts like a chant. 

"Elizabeth? I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry he scared you. I promise he's gone now. He's not going to come back. I won't let him. I'd still like to help you get out of this. Will you let me? Will you give me your hand again?" 

No response. She lay still as an inanimate object. 

"Elizabeth. Please. Let me help you. Elizabeth..." 

"Beth! Beth!" A desperate voice, barely audible to anyone but a Sentinel, called from the other side of the roof. 

The woman looked up for a moment, a mixture of shock, disbelief and hope on her face. Jim felt his gut wrench. 

"Not another dream," she whispered and lay her head back down. 

"You have to let me through." Jim could hear the man's voice rising, a slight Southern accent, arguing with Ramsey. "You have to let me talk to her. I can get her off that ledge. Look, I'm her husband. She'll listen to me." 

"Buddy, that woman killed her husband. That's why the doctor and all the rest of us are out here. So if you don't want any trouble, then I'd advise you to go back where you came from. Hey, Patterson, can you give me a hand with this jerk?" 

Jim could see the dark-haired man struggle as the officer began "helping" him toward the door. 

"You don't understand! I _am_ her husband. She didn't kill anyone. That's just what that pig wants you to think," he screamed, pointing at Dr. Smith. "Why don't you check his credentials? Call wherever he claims he's from. He's not who he says he is. If you want to arrest someone, arrest that bastard for what he's done to my wife." 

"Chief, I need you to keep an eye on her for me. See if you can get her talking again. Call for help if it looks like she's going to jump. I'll be right back." 

Blair nodded and moved over to the edge of the building. Jim could hear the low, soothing patter of his partner's words, as Blair unconsciously switched into Guide mode to try to reach the distraught woman. Jim quickly crossed the roof and intervened between Patterson and the man claiming to be her husband. 

"I can handle it from here," he assured his fellow officer. 

"He says he's the nut case's husband." 

"Okay. Thanks Patterson. Good work. I'll get it sorted out. They could probably use some more help keeping people off the roof if this guy managed to slip past." 

Patterson hesitated slightly, ready to have it out with the persistent pest. But Jim was his superior, and he finally just nodded and took up a position by the entrance. 

"So you want to tell me what this is all about? How do you know the fugitive?" Jim asked. 

Anger flashed through the man's dark eyes. "She's _not_ a fugitive! That's just some bullshit story they made up, so you'd do their dirty work for them. That bastard and whoever he's working with kidnapped my wife and held her against her will for the past month. I've been searching for her all this time, and I finally tracked her to Cascade. Actually, I was here in the building meeting with a private investigator I hired to help me find her. Somehow, she must have managed to escape, and now they're trying to cover up their crime. You can be damned sure they don't want her to make it off this roof alive. The _doctor_ is here to make sure she jumps or you people shoot her. He'll tell you any lie to see that happens. But I swear to you. It's _all_ lies. She's completely innocent." 

Throughout the tirade, Jim monitored his vital signs. He was agitated, pumped up with adrenaline, angry, but telling the truth. He had known there was something wrong with the doctor earlier, something rotten about this whole situation, another flash of intuition he hadn't paid close enough attention to. 

And then there was the why of it all, why this woman had been taken. The part that scared him. 

"So could you enlighten me as to why these people are after your wife?" he asked. 

The man looked away. "Who knows why people do the terrible things they do?" 

Jim heard the slight flutter in the heart beat, and he could smell the anxiety. The man was lying, as Jim suspected he would. And he pretty much knew why. Damn it! It was just about the last thing he ever wanted to deal with again. 

"Please, Detective, let me talk to Beth. She's in bad shape, and she really needs me," the man pleaded softly. 

Jim jerked his head toward the other side of the building, and the man followed him. 

As they passed by, Simon grabbed his arm. "Jim? What's going on?" 

"Simon, I think we may have been mislead here. This man claims to be her husband. He wants to try to talk her off the ledge." 

His commanding officer gave the man the once over and shot Jim a questioning look. 

"I think we should give him a chance and sort it out after we have her safely back on the roof," Jim said. 

Simon nodded. "I'll order everyone to stand down. But if this doesn't work..." 

"Understood, sir." 

He motioned to the man, and they joined Blair in his vigil by the side of the roof. 

"She's not responding," Blair said, sounding worried. 

He put a hand on his partner's shoulder and maneuvered him back from the wall. "Let him try, Chief." 

Blair looked puzzled but followed his lead. The man stepped up to the edge of the building. 

"Beth? Sweetheart, it's Sam. It's really me, sweetie. Listen to my voice. You know it's true, baby. I'm not dead. You didn't kill me. You never hurt anybody in your life. Whatever they made you believe, it was all lies, Beth. See? I'm here, and I'm not going to let anybody hurt you ever again. Okay? So please, please don't hurt yourself, sweetheart. Come on back, love. Let me help you back up here. We'll get this mess cleared up, and then I'll take you home. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

Jim tried not to flinch. He recognized the honey silk texture of that tone so well. It was so much like the voice that had lead him out of the darkness a hundred times. 

"Yes, I want to go home," came Elizabeth's answer on a choked sob. 

"Good, sweetie, good. Now can you sit up for me. Be careful! That's a girl. Now give me your hand. Reach it out to me, sweetheart. I'm going to pull you up. Okay? You just hang on. That's my girl. Here we go." 

Jim helped him, and together they managed to pull her up from the ledge, over the low wall and onto the safety of the roof. She collapsed into a heap on the blacktop, weeping. Her husband knelt beside her, taking her in his arms, cradling and rocking her, stroking her hair, murmuring reassuring words, broken phrases of comfort. She clung to him, clutching handfuls of his shirt, trying to get out words between the sobs, struggling to make sense of it all. 

"But they told me...oh God, and I remember it. I still see it whenever I close my eyes. How can I see it if I didn't...oh God, I really thought I had. I'm sorry, Sam. Oh God, I'm so, so sorry. I can see you lying there on the ground. And there's blood everywhere. And it's on my hands, and it doesn't come off. And it was me who did that to you. At least, I thought it was. Oh God, I thought I killed you." 

He kissed her head and rubbed her back. "Shh. Shh. Hush now. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't hurt anybody. You have nothing to be sorry for. I know it's hard, baby, but you have to let go of those images in your head. None of it ever happened. It's just what they wanted you to _think_ happened. They planted all that crap in your mind. They're not real memories. Can you think back and try to remember what really happened?" 

The sobs were beginning to subside, and she frowned, trying to concentrate. "Maybe. It's hard. Wait. Yes. They had on ski masks. And they wore black. All black. They broke into the office." 

He held her tighter. "That's so good, Beth. You're remembering. You had a few late patients that day. You stayed late to get caught up on some paperwork. The people in black broke in. Can you remember anything else? Do you know where they took you?" 

She shook her head. "It's all fuzzy." 

"That's okay," he soothed her. "We'll figure it out when you're ready. How do you feel? Are you all right?" 

"My head feels weird. Heavy. And everything looks...it's like it's all behind gauze. And far away." 

"They probably drugged you. We'll find out at the hospital. Are you hurt anywhere else?" 

"Uh-uh." 

"That's good, baby. I was really, really worried about you. I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you..." he broke off, pulling her closer. 

"I'm so glad you're...oh God, I'm so relieved. Thank God, Sam. Thank God. I love you so much." 

"I love you too, sweetheart." 

Jim watched his partner stare at the reunited couple, taking in the scene of resurrection and redemption, a tangle of emotions playing over his naked face. And he longed to hold Blair, as the man held his wife. He wanted nothing more than to stroke the wind-tangled curls, to whisper gentle reassurances into his ear, to tell him how relieved he was, how glad, how much he... 

//Not now, Ellison, not now. Gotta keep it professional, keep your mind focused on the job. Besides, you lost the right to say all those things to him when you failed to protect him. When you treated him like shit and kicked him out of his own home like the asshole you are. And left him undefended for that bitch to...shit! Not gonna go there. You know he's never really forgiven you and probably never will. And it's all your own doing. And you'll just have to live with it. At least, he's still alive and for whatever crazy reason, still lets you be part of his life. For now anyway. Thank God, thank God for that at least.// 

A thought jolted through his misery. 

"Shit!" he whirled around, not really expecting to find what he was looking for. 

"What, Jim?" Blair asked, his eyes wide. 

"That asshole doctor. Or whoever he was. Where the hell did he go?" 

Blair helped him look. Together, they searched the roof, checked with the other officers, including Ramsey, who'd been keeping an eye on him. Unfortunately, during all the excitement, Ramsey had gotten distracted, and the doctor was now nowhere to be found. 

"It's beginning to look more and more like our 'fugitive' is actually the victim here," Simon said. "I called for an ambulance. Let's get her to the hospital, and then work on confirming her identity and her story. I'll put some men on the mysterious doctor's trail, but I'm sure we all know how much good that will do." 

"Damn it!" Jim cursed. "I can't believe I let that weasel get away. I knew there was something off about him the minute I saw him. Something wrong with this whole situation. I have got to learn to trust this...whatever this thing is." 

Blair put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself, big guy? You're not the only one on duty here. And it's not like anybody else noticed him slipping away." 

Jim rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was beginning to get a headache. He lowered his voice. "But I am the only one here who's a Sentinel, Chief. When I don't listen to this intuition, people get hurt. And that's not okay." 

Blair blinked at him, recognition dawning that they weren't really talking about the case at hand. Words formed on his lips but went unsaid, as they did far too often these days. 

Jim sighed and put a hand on his partner's back. "Let's get her off to the hospital and then head down to the station to start figuring out what happened here today, huh, Chief?" 

Blair just nodded, lapsing back into the now familiar silence. 

It took some convincing, but they finally managed to get Elizabeth to agree to the hospital visit. When she first saw the EMTs, she let out a terrified scream and tried to lunge back toward the side of the building. Fortunately, her husband had a firm grasp on her and was able to calm her down and explain they were only trying to help, that they weren't the same people who had kidnapped her. After some minutes of soothing and reassurance, she let them put her on the gurney, although she kept a tight hold on her husband's hand. Together, they left in the ambulance for the hospital, accompanied by several uniformed officers. Elizabeth was under protective custody until they sorted out the whole mess and just in case the kidnappers came looking for her again. 

Only a few hours later they had all the confirmation they needed that Sam and Elizabeth had been telling the truth. A quick call to Conover told them that Elizabeth had never been committed there, and they had no Dr. Smith on staff. They took fingerprints from the couple, and the computer came back with a match from DMV records in California. They were exactly who they claimed to be, Dr. Elizabeth Knowlton and her husband, Sam Crawford. Jim called an old friend at the San Francisco PD and learned that Mr. Crawford had reported his wife missing a little over a month ago. Dr. Knowlton was well-known in the city, had a thriving psychiatry practice and even did some consulting for the state parole board, making recommendations at parole hearings. Given Dr. Knowlton's ties to the criminal justice community, the police had put some real time into the case but had come up with no solid leads. They didn't consider her the type to run off, so they were treating her disappearance as suspicious. Her husband had an airtight alibi and was not considered a suspect. They'd pretty much had to reconcile themselves to waiting for the body to turn up, figuring she was already dead if there'd been no word from her and no ransom demand. 

"I'm glad to hear it turned out happier than we expected," his friend said before they hung up. 

"Yeah, me too," Jim agreed. "Look, I owe you one." 

"You owe me more than one, Jimbo. But who's counting? Take care of yourself." 

"You too." 

Blair looked at him expectantly. 

"SFPD confirmed the husband's story. It's just like they said." 

"Geez, and to think what could have happened to her up on that roof," Blair shivered. 

Jim patted his shoulder. "Yeah. I know what you mean, Chief. I'm gonna go update Simon. You wanna come?" 

Blair shook his head. "Nah, man. You can handle it. I'm gonna start on this paperwork." 

"Okay, Chief. Whatever you want." 

There was a time when Blair would not have let him go into Simon's office to discuss the weather without him. Nowadays, he hung back more and more often. Jim just wondered how long it would be before he stopped working with him altogether. And then moved out of the loft and left Cascade and fell out of his life completely. 

//Don't go there, Ellison. It'll come soon enough. No need to anticipate it. Try to hang on to him as long as possible. Try to enjoy him while you can. Try not to think about the sadness in his eyes and who put it there.// 

He knocked on the captain's door and waited for the bellow that invited him in. 

"What've you got, Ellison?" 

"Their story checks out, sir. Here's the information on the victim, Dr. Elizabeth Knowlton. I'd like to go down to the hospital and see if I can get a statement from her. If that's okay with you. I assume we'll want to investigate it as a kidnapping, cooperate with SFPD on it." 

"And let's nail the 'doctor' for impersonating a state official while we're at it." 

"I'll get right on it, Simon," he said, reaching for the door. 

"Wait a second, Jim." 

"Yeah, Captain?" 

"How's Sandburg doing? I mean, _really_ doing. Not the official story you tell your supervisor, but the truth, for someone who's a friend. Because from where I'm sitting he doesn't seem any closer to being over it than he was three months ago. Hell, he hasn't even once lectured me on the dynamics of a closed society. He'll go a whole day and barely say three words. And that's the most un-Sandburg like thing I can imagine. I gotta tell you, Jim, I'm concerned here." 

Jim sighed and sat down. "Me too, Simon. But I don't know what to do for him. I suggested that maybe he should go talk to somebody, and he gave me the silent treatment for two days afterwards. I can't tell you how hard that was to take coming from Blair." 

"Does he at least talk to you about it?" 

He shook his head. 

"Never? Not even right after it happened? You mean you didn't even talk out the stuff that happened with you guys before...didn't you at least make it right between the two of you?" 

"He said he forgave me, but..." 

"You don't think he did?" 

Jim shook his head sadly. 

"Don't you think it would be a good idea to try talking to him again, instead of just letting it fester? It's obviously not doing either one of you any good." 

"I don't know how to Simon. I always relied on him to...do this kind of thing. Now that he's not talking..." 

"Well, Jim, you're just going to have to figure it out, because I can't let this go on much longer. If Blair's not a hundred percent, he could be in danger out there. He could put you at risk. I can't have that. Listen, you know the _last_ thing I want to do is yank the kid's credentials, but if things don't improve, I won't have any choice." 

"I'm afraid that may not be an issue much longer anyway, Simon." 

"You mean, you think he's gonna quit?" 

"I have to badger him into coming to work with me as it is. It's pretty much the last thing he wants to do. And yeah, I don't think he's gonna keep it up much longer." 

"Geez, Jim, I didn't know it was that bad. You really do need to sit down and have a serious talk with him. He needs to know that you still want him around here, that we all do. Tell him how valuable he is to the department. Let him know how much you need him. As a partner. And with the Sentinel thing. And as a friend, if you have any sense at all." 

He shook his head and felt a heaviness settle in his chest. "I think I already missed the boat on that. I just took him for granted once too often. I don't know what I expected. That I could act like a prick whenever I felt like it and he'd always just forgive me. But I said some things...well, I guess there are just some words you can't take back." 

"I really hope that's not true, Jim." 

"You and me both, Simon. You and me both." 

"Let me know how it goes. With Sandburg. And Dr. Knowlton." 

"Will do, Captain." 

He closed the door behind him and rejoined Sandburg at his desk. 

"Hey Chief, you up for coming with me to the hospital to talk to Dr. Knowlton and Mr. Crawford?" 

"Well, I've still got all this..." 

"Come on, Chief," he coaxed. "I could really use your help down there." 

He hesitated a moment. "Okay, man. Let me get my coat." 

The truck ride over to the hospital was silent, as it tended to be these days. Jim watched Blair out of the corner of his eye, but his partner just stared out the window the whole way. 

Once at the hospital, they checked in with Elizabeth's doctor and found that she had been admitted. 

"We're still doing tests," Dr. Langtree told them. "But she's definitely been drugged. My best guess is a combination of psychoactive drugs that were used to induce hallucination and extreme suggestibility. We've begun some basic detox. Once we know exactly what we're dealing with, we'll be able to prescribe better treatment." 

"Can we talk to her?" Jim asked. 

"I'm afraid she's not likely to be of much help right now. She's pretty out of it. Fading in and out of consciousness." 

"We'd like to try anyway, if that's okay with you." 

The doctor shrugged. "Sure. She's not in any imminent danger. Her husband's with her. If it's okay with him, it's okay with me. She's in Room 317." 

"Great. Thanks." 

They took the elevator up to the third floor and found Elizabeth's room. 

"I'll wait for you out here. She's probably not in any shape to have a lot of people crowding her." 

"Okay, Chief. I'll be back in a few," he said, pushing open the door. 

Somehow in the safe, orderly environment of the hospital, Elizabeth Knowlton looked even more worn and fragile than she had up on the roof. She lay curled near the edge of the bed, sleeping, close to her husband, who was stroking her hair and holding her hand. She had large dark circles beneath her eyes, chapped, cracked lips and an unhealthy pallor. The very set of her body suggested extreme exhaustion. It was clear she'd been through hell. 

Jim was about to clear his throat and get their attention when he heard the murmuring, low and gentle, Sam quietly comforting his wife. Too quietly. He watched her snuggle closer, seeking solace in her husband's physical presence and his sweet words. Jim felt the room spin, the edge of his vision shimmering and sparkly. He had to close his eyes to keep from becoming violently ill. He should have been prepared for it. He had more than suspected it up on the roof, but to have final confirmation...that threw him. It had been his fervent hope never to run into another Sentinel again as long as he lived. But here she was. No other explanation. 

He opened his eyes and found her watching him, eyes still a little clouded from the drugs but filled with understanding. A moment, a look, a sign--something as old as time--passed between them. He knew what she was. She knew what he was. It was the mutual recognition of two Sentinels and all the questions that went along with it. 

She closed her eyes again and fell asleep once more, pale and weak. Not a threat, it ocurred to him. //That must be why I don't have the same sense of danger that I did with...the other one. But what about when she gets well? How will I react to her then? What will she try to do?// Warring impulses tore through him, the Sentinel and the cop unusually at odds. The Sentinel wanted to grab his Guide and get him to safety and keep him there until this woman left his city. The cop, on the other hand, understood that he had a sworn responsibility to protect this couple who were still most likely in grave danger. 

The cop won, but the Sentinel remained on high alert. 

He went back outside. Blair looked at him expectantly, but he simply laid a hand on his partner's shoulder and took out his cell phone. 

"Banks." 

"It's Ellison, Captain. Look, we've something of a situation down here at the hosptial. Dr. Knowlton and Mr. Crawford are in more serious danger than we thought. We need to double the guards and arrange for a safe house for them once she's well enough to be released from the hospital." 

"Why, Jim?" Simon asked. 

Blair's expression repeated the question. 

"Because she's a Sentinel. That's why they took her. And they can't afford not to finish the job." 

"Oh lord, not another one." 

Blair only gasped and then went sickly pale. 

"Yeah, I know, Simon. I'm no more happy about it than you are. Look, I'll be back at the station in about an hour. I want to get Sandburg home." 

"Take care of him, Jim." 

"Don't worry, Simon. That's exactly what I intend to do." 

Jim wrapped a protective arm around his partner's shoulders and led him out of the hospital. 

Blair said nothing on the ride home, which didn't come as much of a shock, but when they got to the loft, he slunk off to his room, without a word, banging the door behind him, which did surprise Jim. //Oh, great! It's going to be one of _those_ spells.// Blair seemed to have two moods these days: depression and fury. In three years of living together, he could count on one hand the times Blair had gotten _really_ pissed with him, overlooking occasions when even Jim realized he was being an asshole. Now Blair's flashes of anger were an almost everyday occurrence, and for the life of him, Jim could never figure out what he'd done to trigger them. Sometimes it was something as small as getting the wrong kind of takeout food. Sometimes even Blair didn't seem to know what had caused it. 

He could hear Blair toss himself onto his bed, shifting restlessly, the springs squeaking with each movement. He knocked softly on the door. "Hey Chief? Can we talk?" 

Blair let out his breath in a long sigh. "What is it, Jim?" 

"I'd rather not do this through the door." 

"Well, come in then." 

He opened the door and found Blair regarding him with irritated impatience. "What do you want, Jim?" 

"I want to know why you're mad at me all of a sudden." 

"Oh believe me, it is _not_ all of a sudden." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means you treat me like I'm some kind of baby who can't make a decision for himself, and you have since we began this partnership. If I can even call it that. What'd you even come in here for, Jim? Forget to wipe my butt?" 

//I'd like to _kick_ your butt about now.// Jim counted to ten and then back down again. "You know it's not like that, Chief. You're not exactly being fair. I'm just concerned about you." 

"Well, back off, man. I do not need a damned babysitter. I can decide what my limits are and when I need to go home. And when I _don't_." 

He sighed. "You know finding another Sentinel upset you." 

"Yes, it did. Since the last one tried to _kill_ me, I think I'm entitled to that. But you at least might have _asked_ if I _wanted_ to go home. Instead of treating me like some invalid or a basket case." 

"That's not what I did, Chief. It's certainly not what I _meant_." 

Some of Blair's anger began to drain away. The outbursts never went on for very long. "Yeah, well...that's how it felt." 

"I'm sorry then." 

'Yeah, okay. Just don't do it again." 

"I won't, Chief. Promise. I'll ask first." 

"Okay. Good. Thanks." 

"I was going to heat up some soup for lunch. You want some?" 

Blair shook his head. "I'm not hungry. You go ahead. I have some reading to do." 

If they hadn't just had a fight, Jim would have insisted. Blair was not eating well, and the effects were beginning to show. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind." 

Blair nodded distractedly. He settled back onto his bed, opening a book, curling up in a way that made him look so young and vulnerable it nearly broke Jim's heart. He left his partner to his reading, closing the door quietly behind him. //I am so tired of this. Sometimes I really wish he would just come out and say it. That it's all my fault, that he _doesn't_ forgive me, that he...hates me. As awful as that would be, at least it would be out in the open.// God, he missed Blair, the old Blair. And the old days, the way things used to be. But the days when the two of them had companionably shared a meal or just hung out together on the weekends seemed like a dream. Nowadays, it was either silence or an explosion. That's how they related to one another. Jim ate lunch and was just finishing up the dishes when his cell phone rang, the station calling him back down with developments on another case he was working. 

He knocked on Blair's door. When there wasn't any answer, he opened it and peeked in. Blair was still in the same position, concentrating intently on the page he was reading. 

"Chief?" he called, as quietly as possible. But not quietly enough. Blair jerked with a violent start. 

"God, Jim, give me a heart attack." 

"Sorry, Chief. Didn't mean to scare you." 

"You didn't _scare_ me," his partner insisted defiantly. 

He sighed. "Then I'm sorry I interrupted you. There's been a break in the First Fidelity robbery. You want to come along?" 

Blair froze, looking both stricken and guilty for not wanting to go. //This is why it's just easier to make some decisions for you, Chief. You may know your limits, but you're not very good at respecting them.// 

"You don't have to," Jim said gently. "It's nothing earth shattering. I can handle it on my own." 

"Well, if you really think so..." he said, his voice filled with relief. 

"I think so. I'll see you tonight." 

"Okay, Jim. See you tonight. Oh, and Jim?" 

He turned back around. 

"I'm really..." Blair stopped, but his face said everything. 

"It's all right, Chief. I understand." 

His reward was a brief, tremulous smile. It was the most Blair could manage these days. "Thanks, man." 

* * *

Jim could not remember a time when doing his duty had been such unmitigated hell. Even the months in Peru paled in comparison. He would take hunger, isolation, the merciless elements any day over watching Blair in a near constant state of panic. Not to mention being forced to face his own demons. 

Dr. Knowlton had remained in the hospital over a week, while the doctors purged the drugs from her system and began building back her strength. Three days ago, they had moved to a secured location where the couple were under twenty-four hour protection. It's not that he'd wanted to volunteer for the assignment, but since he understood what they were dealing with better than anyone else, he was the logical choice. Blair had insisted on coming with him, despite his vehement, rather loud protests to the contrary. In the end, Blair had won, as usual, and they'd both moved into the safe house for the duration, supported by teams of other officers, to give the couple round-the- clock security. 

Whenever Jim asked, Blair insisted he was fine, but he could hear him working overtime to keep his pulse and respiration under control. Every time Blair put his breathing into a calming pattern, Jim cringed. 

Elizabeth had been very weak and still largely out of it when they first arrived. Every day, though, she seemed to get a little stronger, able to sit up in bed, take a shower with her husband's help, and even have a meal at the table that morning. She still slept a great deal, but she was definitely recovering. And Jim had begun having a bizarre reaction to her as he'd thought he would, only it wasn't remotely what he'd expected it to be. 

Unbearable curiosity. 

That's what he felt toward her. Or more precisely, toward her relationship with her husband. Her Guide. He was ashamed of himself, but he could not help listening in on them. It was as if his senses had a will of their own. He would have loved to pretend it was a protective impulse, the cop doing his duty, the Sentinel looking out for his Guide. But finally that had nothing to do with it. He was no better than a common voyeur, intruding on their intimacy, fascinated and jarred to his core all at once by this unique opportunity to observe firsthand another Sentinel and Guide relating to one another. 

What time he didn't spending monitoring them he used to replay the scene up on the roof, thinking back on what Elizabeth had said on that ledge when she thought she'd killed her husband. //He gave me everything and look how I repaid him.// Oh God, and how had he repaid Blair? Packing up his stuff. Throwing him out of the loft. He could still picture the precise expression on Blair's face when he realized all the stuff in the cartons was his--a pained disbelief, a hurt that cut to the bone. It still made Jim wince when he remembered it, all these months later. 

And if that weren't bad enough, there was that whole scene down at the station, the stuff of guilty nightmares for years to come. He still didn't know why he'd done it, why he'd gone out of his way to hurt his Guide. Because there was no more calculated way to hurt Blair than to tell him he didn't need him, didn't trust him, didn't want either their partnership or their friendship. He knew he had a capacity for cruelty, but it made him ache deep inside that he'd used it against Blair. In the light of all they'd been through together, it stunned him that he could take away Blair's home and security with such coldness, without remorse, without even caring at the time what happened to him, the man who was the best friend he'd ever had. 

//You know where to find me.// Those had been Blair's parting words that day. But God. Oh God. He never expected to find him where he did. His own personal hell would always be an image of blue, blue water with curly brown hair floating on the surface of it. And the way his partner felt beneath his hands as he tried to breathe the life back into him, cold and clammy, the grave already laying claim to him. And that terrible sound, the absence of a heartbeat, nothing but silence at the center of the world. And the surreal quality of the entire afternoon. It was such a beautiful day. The sun was so yellow and the sky so blue, and Blair was the color of pale death on the green, green grass. 

And then the EMTs finally arrived, but they didn't bring salvation, only their hateful pronouncements, the two most god-awful words in the whole of the English vocabulary. _I'm sorry._ But he was the one who was sorry. As his colleagues held him back, to prevent him from pummeling Blair's defeated body in a vain attempt to get him back, he saw with perfect clarity how every mean-spirited comment, every scornful look, every ingratitude had lead him to this moment. Blair would never have been in danger if he hadn't pushed him away. He would never have died if he'd repaid Blair with the love, trust and respect he'd deserved. What had he ever actually given Blair? A home that he'd taken away from him, an attitude every time his Guide tried to help him, friendship he'd rescinded with an ease that was hardly human. 

Jim hadn't even given Blair back the life his foolish actions had robbed from him. Blair had managed that miracle on his own, the heart wondrously beginning to beat again, the lungs taking up their work once more, as the EMTs scrambled to get him into the ambulance, at a loss to explain his stunning rebirth. And the whole way to the hospital, kneeling by his partner's side, holding the pale hand tightly in his own, he'd praised God and cursed himself. 

That feeling had not changed during the three months Blair had been back among the living. Elizabeth saw blood on her hands. He saw the blue water. 

He could hear the shower running upstairs, and he didn't even try to fight his hearing as it zeroed in on Sam and Elizabeth. He could hear the spray travelling down the curves and angles of their bodies, the slippery slide of soap, hands ranging over wet flesh, the sound of shampoo being worked through hair, low murmurs of contentment and affection, the occasional gasp as Sam discovered some new bruise or cut, the fading evidence of Elizabeth's captivity. 

He cast a sidelong glance over at Blair to see if he was aware of this guilty eavesdropping, but his partner was bent over his laptop, working on the mid-term for his class. He realized it wasn't just curiosity he felt toward Elizabeth. It was envy. She'd gotten to wake up from her nightmare and have her Guide back intact, the whole thing no more than a drug-induced delusion. He'd gotten his Guide back, but the nightmare was still between them. Blair had been changed. Blair had been damaged. That's why Jim could never feel the perfect happiness he wanted that Blair was safe and sound and alive. Because there had still been a death that day, and he was in mourning. It just wasn't Blair's body that was gone, but a part of his spirit. A part that Jim had loved so much without ever even realizing it, and now it was gone. Because he'd killed it. 

They should have talked about it. Of course, they should have. He should have made Blair open up to him. Maybe then, there wouldn't have been all the terrible silences. Maybe then, he wouldn't have had to stand by and watch as the wound only deepened. Instead, Jim had simply moved Blair's stuff back into the loft, hoping his actions would say what he found so difficult to communicate in words. He'd brought Blair back to their home after the doctors released him, hoping somehow they could restore all that had been damaged between them. And in some ways, they had. Blair had convalesced, and after that, they'd gone back to their jobs and their routine and their everyday lives. But they'd left all the most important things undone, unsaid, unhealed. They had not come to terms with the fact that Blair had almost died, that he _had_ died, and only by some chance or grace of God had made it back. They had not discussed the rupture in their friendship or the very obvious fact that Blair was struggling with what had happened to him. In fact, it seemed that they talked about very little these days, more and more evenings spent apart or mindlessly in front of the television, the electronic buzz standing in for company and consolation. 

Jim knew it was his fault. He had always followed Blair's lead in emotional matters, waiting for his Guide to draw him out, to understand him, to fix it. And now it was his Guide who needed help, and he was failing him yet again. He had been waiting for Blair to be Blair, the person he knew before the fountain. He'd been waiting for Blair to do the talking. And waiting and waiting. It was a longstanding inequity in their relationship, he realized. He depended on Blair to handle their communication, since it same so easily to him and felt like a hundred different kinds of torture to Jim. Only now Blair was shut down tight. Silent Blair. Blair so deep within himself that to get him to talk about the ordinary happenings of his day was a major accomplishment. Blair with all the energy and enthusiasm taken out of him. This was Jim's handiwork. This was what he had returned for all the good Blair had done him. 

Blair shut down the computer and began gathering his things to take up to the bedroom he was using. 

"Hey Chief," he said softly. "You want to catch the Jags game on TV with me?" 

Blair shook his head. "Sorry, man. I'm kind of wiped. Think I'll just head on up to bed." 

He nodded and watched his friend climb the stairs, looking pale and spent. It was ten o'clock. He bet Blair hadn't gone to bed this early since grade school. But now it was more and more often, like his partner could barely summon up enough energy to get through the day. 

He went to the refrigerator for a beer. It probably wasn't a good idea. Technically, he was on duty. And he didn't give a shit. He flopped onto the couch and flipped on the set, tuning in the game. He half watched it as he listened to Sam and Elizabeth settling in together for the night, as he monitored Blair's too-fast pulse that told him his friend was having little luck falling asleep. 

He sat on the sofa drinking his beer, trying to figure out when the hell everything had gotten so far out of his control, until he drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

It was like floating on a fluffy cloud to Elizabeth's still recovering senses. Oh yes, it was a comfortable chair, oversized and overstuffed, soft fabric, soothing white color, with cushiony arms where she could rest her head whenever it started to hurt again. She still could not stay awake for long stretches of time, but she was sick to death of lying in bed. Two days ago, she'd graduated to the living room and the big chair. She spent as much of the day as she could in it, fighting to stay conscious as long as possible, drifting off to sleep when she lost the battle. It was a definite improvement. It made her feel saner somehow, more part of the normal world, waking hours in one place, sleeping hours in another. 

The time up on the roof seemed more and more distant. In her mind, it had a photographic quality, like something she'd seen in a magazine, something she'd read about, something that happened to someone else. That wouldn't last forever, she knew. She was a psychiatrist, and she specialized in treating trauma. She understood what disassociation meant, the way the mind distanced itself from painful events. But she could not help wanting to hang onto that distance as long as possible. It was comforting to remember so little and feel nothing. She was too tired to do anything more than lie curled up in her favorite chair in a state of blissful numbness. 

The panic still came over her at times. For a brief moment, she would believe Sam was dead again, and her pulse would race and her breathing stop. When Sam was in the same room with her, he would realize it and put a hand on her arm or back. That always comforted her. If he was somewhere else, her senses would shoot out into the house like someone had fired a starting pistol. They would fasten on Sam's pulse, his voice, his smell. She tried to get as many different kinds of sensory input as possible to keep from zoning on any particular one. She'd taken to wearing his shirts, so she'd be blanketed in his scent all the time, so she could hang onto the knowledge that Sam was wonderfully alive. So she could fend off those moments of spiraling confusion and the black hole of loss that kept threatening to suck her back in. 

That's what the whole time away from Sam seemed like now: a black hole. The first few days in the hospital really were like the beginning of a new creation for her, light separating from darkness, the world taking shape once more. She had gotten her full-fledged senses back, and that hurt like hell. The drugs in her system interfered with her control, causing her senses to fritz out completely at times and then spike painfully at others. Sam had been working with her on it, and finally, they seemed to have calmed down, which was a great relief. 

Now, it was her body that needed to recuperate. And her spirit, which would take longer and be much, much harder to fix. But she didn't want to concentrate on that just yet. She recognized denial when she saw it, but she didn't care. It was so much easier to take a professional interest in the people around her, to figure out how she might be able to help them. //Physician heal thyself.// She shook her head. //Maybe later.// 

Once her senses were back online, it didn't take long to realize that Detective Ellison's partner was having a negative reaction to her. She felt him seize up and heard his pulse go off the chart whenever she was around. It was a startle response. He could get it under control after a few minutes, but he couldn't prevent it from happening. Or how could she possibly have missed the way Detective Ellison scrutinized her whenever she was in the same room with his partner? He would tune into Blair's vital signs, getting the same grim expression on his face every time he heard the heartbeat go crazy. 

She'd been trying to desensitize Blair to her presence, little doses at a time, being in the same room with him, sitting at the same table, passing in the hall. He had almost gotten used to her. This morning, Jim had gone into the station to finish up another case. Sam was catching up on some work, using the desk in their bedroom as a makeshift office. Blair was sitting on the sofa, grading papers, and she had taken up her usual position in the big chair. They'd spent most of the morning like that, just the two of them, and his vital signs stayed close to normal. 

She listened to the scratching of the pen across the paper. It seemed like a lot of red ink. "Was it a hard test?" she asked. 

He started for a moment, surprised she'd spoken, but not overly agitated. "Um, I don't know, maybe. Yeah, actually I guess so. Harder than I meant it to be. They're not doing very well." 

"You teach anthropology?" she asked. 

He nodded. 

"I took an anthopology course in college. The thing I remember most clearly was what the Aztecs did to their captives. That ripping the beating heart out thing kind of got to me." 

He smiled. "We're covering material that's a little less gruesome than that." 

She smiled back at him. "I'm glad for your students." 

"Did you like it? The course you took?" 

"I did. A lot, actually. I've always been interested in what makes people tick. Usually on a more individual basis. But it was also interesting to get the larger vantage point, to understand how societies are structured, how they operate and the formative effect all that has on individual behavior." 

"I guess when you put it that way it's not all that different from what you do in your field." 

She shook her head. "Not really. It's mostly just a matter of macro vs. micro. And even that's really a false distinction. In the work I do with trauma survivors, the community is actually quite important. How well traumatized people heal has a lot to do with the reaction of the people around them and the society's attitude toward the type of traumatic event they suffered." 

"I've read some of your work, mostly case studies. To help me understand things I see down at the station a little better. We deal with a lot of hurt and scared people. You've gotten some pretty amazing results." 

"I've been lucky. What with my senses and all. I know you know about that." 

"Jim figured it out," Blair said, a little uncomfortable. 

She smiled. "When he came to see me at the hospital. I guess you could say we kind of recognized each other. It's okay. I don't mind your knowing. You understand what this is. You've seen it before. With Jim. I know you won't reveal my secret." 

"It's safe with me," Blair assured her and looked thoughtful. "So you use your senses in your work as a psychiatrist?" 

She nodded. "Yeah. The hardest part of conducting therapy is trying to figure out what people want to tell you but can't or act like they want to tell you but really are fighting tooth and nail not to. My senses are invaluable to me in figuring out what to explore and when to press and when to hang back, when it's time to offer reassurance, to work on establishing safety. It sure does beat relying on intuition alone." 

"It must get hard at times, though. Hearing all those terrible stories." 

She sensed an opening. She held his eyes. "It can be. Truly unspeakable things happen to people every day. That's a difficult reality to accept. But I also see the strength and resilience of the human spirit on a daily basis, and that is an amazing thing. Political prisoners. Rape victims. Abused children. People who have survived encounters with human evil, who have endured ultimate powerlessness, who have faced death. And they're still here, as shattering as the experience was. And they're still fighting. And I find it a sacred duty to bear witness for them, to grieve with them, to help them learn to celebrate the fact that they are still alive." 

His attention was riveted on her. She used her senses on him the way she did with her patients, to assess his state of mind and let them guide her next move. "Were you badly hurt?" she asked softly. "By the other one like me." 

He choked slightly on the coffee he was drinking. "What? What makes you think that?" 

She regarded him compassionately. "I'm a human heart monitor, Mr. Sandburg, remember? Plus, I'm a psychiatrist." 

He retreated into silence, and she let him, knowing he would speak when he was ready. "You can call me Blair," he said finally. 

She smiled. "Thank you. And I'd love it if you'd call me Elizabeth." 

"Is it just written all over me?" 

"Not at all. Certainly not to anyone without my...skills. And it took me a while to piece it together. I'm sorry. I really wasn't trying to intrude on your privacy. It just wasn't possible not to notice how you reacted every time I got near. I knew it couldn't really be fear of me. I'm hardly at my most imposing just at the moment. And while a lot of people dread shrinks, most people don't find us terrifying. So it just made sense that you'd met up with another one of us somewhere along the line, and it wasn't a very positive experience." 

Blair laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That is the understatement of the century. She...she tried to kill me. Actually, she did kill me. But the worst part is..." 

She waited a long moment before prompting him. "What's the worst part, Blair?" 

"Because of her, I betrayed Jim." Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away with his sleeve. 

Elizabeth made her voice as low and gentle as possible. "Somehow I don't think he sees it that way." 

"You don't know how it's been...everything's changed between us. Even before it happened, he said he couldn't trust me anymore. And why should he? I'm an idiot. I got it all wrong. I was so romantic about Sentinels, naive. I wanted to believe so badly, since I first learned about them. Heightened senses and a biological imperative to protect. But finally, Sentinels are just human, like everyone else. Not super heroes or fucking saints. And Alex proved they can do just as much harm as the next person." 

"What exactly did Alex do?" 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "She was a thief and good at it. She killed a security guard during one of her jobs, shot him through the heart. She stole enough deadly nerve gas to kill everyone in Cascade ten times over and sold it to terrorists. She came after Jim. Then she...she tried to drown me, left me for dead. And she got away. And I helped her do it. I taught her how to manage her senses, how to use them more effectively. And that's how she put them to work, that's how she chose to use her gift." 

"But Blair, nothing in nature is perfect. In every species, every group, there are aberrations. Couldn't that explain Alex? That she doesn't define...what do you call us again? Sentinels?...that she doesn't define us so much as point out that there are exceptions to every rule." 

He looked at her sadly. "It's not an easy prospect, is it? That Sentinels can be both good and bad. It's tempting to look for any other explanation. But the proof is in the deeds. And Alex's were all evil. That stands alongside all the good Jim has ever done, all the good you've done." 

She paused a moment. "I hope you'll have proof sometime that this gift does have a higher purpose and all fully developed Sentinels have that knowledge, that drive, deep in their bones, in their very souls." 

"That would be great. But I kind of doubt it's going to happen." 

"You never know, Blair. Keep an open mind, huh?" 

She heard Jim's heart thudding in the hall. He had just come in and stood listening outside the living room, monitoring his partner, the Sentinel on full alert, ready to protect Blair if it should come to that. 

"I'm too tired now, but if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to talk to you some more about Sentinels later. There's so much of the background I don't understand, and you have so much knowledge. Would that be okay? Would it make you too uncomfortable?" 

He hesitated. "No, I could do that. It's just that...you have to understand, I don't have quite the same enthusiasm for it that I once did." 

Elizabeth winced for the detective hearing those words but nodded. "I understand. And thanks." 

When she passed Jim on her way out of the room, she smiled at him, but he only stared at her in return, blue eyes remote and decidedly unfriendly. She felt that icy gaze follow her up the stairs, and she couldn't quite keep from flinching. 

* * *

It was three days later that Elizabeth was alone in the kitchen with Jim and decided it was time to end the tension. She had learned that sometimes the way to earn someone's trust was to put your yourself on the line with them. 

"It's not the first time I was kidnapped," she told him. 

His expression was completely startled, and she went for it while she had him off balance. "The first time I was nine. My father was an oil company executive. They took me from the playground at school and locked me in this old fallout shelter outside of town. I was so terrified. They left me alone a lot, and when they were gone, I was afraid they were never coming back. But then when they did, I was so scared they were going to hurt me. After a while, though, I could hear them coming. I could sense whether they were agitated or calm. I could even smell what kind of food they were bringing me." 

"That's how you developed the Sentinel senses." 

She nodded. "After I was rescued, I blocked out everything about the experience, including the senses. When my mother tried to talk to me about it, I would swear I hadn't been kidnapped, that I'd been away at camp and it had been lots of fun. Neither of my parents were all that comfortable talking things out, so they were just as glad I wanted to pretend it never happened. This was before we knew how damaging it is to be silent about traumatic events. It wasn't until I was doing my psychiatry residency, when I started working with other trauma survivors, that it all began coming back to me. The memories of what happened. And these flashes of intense sensory experience that just kept getting worse. I had these awful headaches. When I tried to sleep, the sheets hurt me. The fluorescent lights at the hospital were torture. It was like trying to stare into the sun. Between the flashbacks and the sensory spikes, I couldn't function anymore." 

Jim kept the stony facade in place, but she could tell he was listening. "What did you do?" he finally asked. 

"I took a leave of absence. I left town. I literally just drove away. No idea where I was going. Somehow I made it to New Mexico. I really don't know how. I was in a lot of pain, and those days are still a blur to me. Anyway, I found this retreat in the mountains north of Santa Fe. It was supposed to be for artists, and you were supposed to make a reservation. But they took one look at me and knew I need that kind of solitude, so they took me in. That's where I met Sam. He studies and writes about eastern religions and meditation techniques. As soon as we met, he started looking out for me, helping me. He really...well, he saved me. Literally. I had decided that if I couldn't get the thing with me senses to stop I'd have no choice but to kill myself. But then there was Sam. The first time he touched me was like a flash in the darkness. I could finally see a way out. I finally had a reason to hope, something to grab on to. 

"I know what that's like." 

"I thought you might." 

He frowned. "Why are you telling me all this?" 

She touched his arm very lightly, very briefly. "I just wanted you to know that I appreciate what you did for me up on that roof. I would have died if you hadn't helped me. I also wanted you to know that we're not meant to be enemies with our own kind. No matter what Alex did." 

She could see him bristle. "Blair told you about that?" 

Elizabeth nodded. 

"How could he talk to you about it and not to me?" 

"Because I wasn't part of it. I don't have a stake in it. And I'm trained for this sort of thing. And I guessed most of it anyway. That's what I do with my senses. I use them to figure out the right questions to ask." 

"So you've been monitoring us." 

She half smiled. "The way you've been monitoring Sam and me." 

He had the good grace to blush. 

"It's all right. I understand. And it doesn't bother me. It's not an easy thing to shut down. And there are some things that are just too hard not to notice. Like the way you tense up whenever I get near your partner. Is he...what does Blair call it?...your Guide?" 

Jim nodded. "For the time being at least." 

She looked surprised. "You're thinking of ending the relationship?" 

He rubbed his forehead. He was getting another headache. "No, but I doubt Blair will be up for it much longer." 

"That's not the impression I got from him. He seemed to think you're the one who doesn't want him around." 

"He can barely stand to spend time with me. He won't talk. He doesn't want to come to work with me anymore. Let's face it. I screwed up, and he can't forgive me for it. Can't say I blame him." 

She looked confused. "He told me he was the one who messed up. Well anyway, I think you're misinterpreting his actions. What you see as rejection and a lack of forgiveness are actually post-traumatic symptoms." 

"How can you tell?" he asked, not able to meet her eyes. 

"Professional insight. Enhanced senses. Personal experience. Let's just say I recognize that unnatural quiet." 

His laugh was strained. "You have no idea just how unnatural a silent Blair is." 

She smiled gently. "I think I have some inkling. People who have survived a life-threatening ordeal often have difficulty reconnecting with loved ones. They feel outside of ordinary daily experience, separated from life. They're frequently depressed, have trouble eating and sleeping. They don't have the same enthusiasm for things they once enjoyed a great deal. It takes time to work through. And it's not reasonable to expect that things will ever be exactly the same again. All our experiences leave their mark on us. But this is a stage. It doesn't last forever. Dealing with it can help it pass more quickly." 

"I don't know what to do for him. Nothing I've tried has helped." 

"It's mostly his work to do, and he may not have been ready to tackle it before now. But I think it's a positive sign that he was able to talk to me. I know he misses you. I think he'd like to talk to you about it." 

"How can I get him to do it then?" 

"Let him know you're there for him. Be ready to acknowledge that you've both suffered a loss and allow yourself to mourn with him. It's not an easy thing. But it is necessary if you're ever going to move on." 

"Is that what you're going to do?" 

She stared down at the table. "When I'm ready. Which isn't just yet. Right now, I still don't remember that much of what happened. And what I can recall is more like a movie. It's like watching myself. No pain attached to it. I don't look forward to having those emotions again. I want to hold onto the blankness a little while longer. When I'm finished here and get back to San Francisco, then I'll have to face the demons of the past month. And so will Sam." 

"It sucks, doesn't it?" 

"It sure as hell does, Jim." 

Continued in [chapter two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/794446/chapters/1526490). 


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into three parts.

## Tribe Sentinel

by Annabelle Leigh

Continued from part one. 

* * *

Tribe Sentinel - part two 

The investigation was limping along, with few leads and lots of unanswered questions. Elizabeth still had not been able to remember much of anything. Her memory from the afternoon of her disappearance to the events of the roof was pretty much a blank. Even the time on the ledge wasn't especially clear. //Someone's out there who knows about Sentinels, who's targeting us, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.// Jim was trying to be patient, but this was personal and patience had never been his particular forte. Worse still, he was beginning to get that edgy feeling again, like something was terribly wrong, very much like his reaction up on the roof that day, only he had no idea what it was about. //Instinct would be great, if only it came with a manual.// 

He and Blair were putting in a day at the station, trying to further the few leads they did have, while Rafe and Brown had taken their place at the safe house, watching over Elizabeth and Sam. Blair was flipping through mug books, looking for the apocryphal Dr. Smith. They'd also had a police artist put together a sketch from the numerous eye witnesses among CPD's own ranks, and the drawing had been sent out over the wire for any matches. Megan was working on tracking down anyone who might have seen Elizabeth earlier in the day before she made it to the Lorden Towers. If they could find what vicinity she came from, that might point them in a direction. Jim was combing through the case file SFPD had faxed them, looking for any thread that might lead somewhere. He was having no luck and was almost beginning to zone on his own frustration. 

"What's up, big guy?" Blair asked, watching him closely, a wrinkle developing between his eyes. 

He shook his head, trying to throw off the eerie bad feeling. "Nothing, Chief. Just sick of looking and finding nothing." 

"Don't do that, Jim. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I know it's more than frustration about the case." 

Jim froze for a minute. It dawned on him that he seriously needed to get past the old patterns. Nothing good had every come from not confiding in his Guide. //Look what happened the last time I didn't tell him about this feeling.// The thought made him shiver. 

"You're right, Chief. There is something up with me. And I'm sorry. I should have told you about it when I first noticed it. I guess I was hoping it was just the stress of the whole situation. But it's not, I realize that now. I have the bad feeling again. The sense that something's terribly wrong. I had it up on the roof with the doctor. Now it's pretty much all the time. Not real strong, kind of vague, fuzzy, like whatever 'it' is...it's still distant. But coming." 

A measure of curiosity stole into Blair's expression, something Jim hadn't seen in months. "Do you think it has something to do with Elizabeth?" his partner asked. 

He shook his head. "I don't think so, Chief. Not directly at least. I don't get the bad feeling _from_ her, not like she's the cause of it, but maybe a little like it's _about_ her, like she's in danger. That's how it was up on the roof. The situation just looked wrong. I felt almost...protective of her. I wanted to help her. But the bad feeling is not _just_ for her. It's a bigger sense of threat than that." 

Blair fell quiet a moment, puzzling it over. 

"Ellison! Sandburg! Where's my update?" 

"Better go give Simon the latest before he busts something," Jim said, getting up from his desk. "Come with me, huh Chief?" 

Blair hesitated a minute, then recognized the silent plea in Jim's expression. 

"Okay, big guy." He grabbed Jim's sleeve before they went into Simon. "Don't worry, Jim. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out." 

* * *

Elizabeth felt like she was going to jump out of her skin. She wished to God she _could_ jump out of her skin. That way she could get away from the grotesque crawling feeling she had all over her body. //Something is so unbelievably wrong. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's that the memories are starting to come back to me. But I am going to go seriously insane if this doesn't stop soon.// 

She paced back and forth between the dresser and the chair on the other side of the room. Sam was lying on the bed, pretending to read, maybe even trying to read, but she knew he couldn't help watching her. //Well, I am acting like a lunatic. And I'm a trained professional, so I ought to know.// 

"Beth," Sam said softly, pliantly, using the soothing voice. "Why don't you try telling me what's wrong?" 

She shook her head. She wasn't ready. 

"It would help you." 

"I don't want to remember," she confessed, staring at the floor. She, of all people, knew better, knew she didn't really have a choice. The mind didn't actually forget. It just provided much needed protection in the traumatic moment, a thankful blankness to aid in the fight for survival. All of the events of the past month were still a part of her, all the pain and terror and fury. They were as much a part of her as her bones and blood and her very cells. They could not be ignored with impunity. They would have their reckoning, one way or another. 

"But you are remembering, aren't you?" he asked. 

She shut her eyes tight and stopped mid-pace. She nodded her head. 

"Come lie down with me, love. Let me hold you." She hesitated. "Come on, sweet. Give the carpet a break. You've nearly worn a hole in it, as it is." 

He smiled, the impish grin that showed his dimples, that she loved so much. It was the first thing she had noticed about him, that day in New Mexico, even through the panic and pain of her runaway senses, a smile so beautiful that suddenly it had seemed absolutely wrong to even consider killing herself. She took a deep breath and thought much the same thing she had back then, when she was first learning to manage her senses. //I can do this. I can do this. I can stand it. I can do it.// She met his eyes, and they both knew she would tell him. 

She lay down beside him, and he curled his body around hers. "I wouldn't ever push you, you know that. If you're not ready, all you have to do is say so," he reassured. 

"It hurts, and it scares me. And it's all mixed up in my head. It's so hard to make sense of any of it," she said. 

He pulled her closer, rubbing his hands comfortingly along her arms. "I know, sweetheart. You just do the best you can." The voice was lilting and curvaceous, deep and rich, the second thing she'd noticed about him, the way that voice got inside her and gave her a feeling, like safe haven, restoring sense to the world gone so horribly awry. 

In the comforting arms of her husband, her Guide, her other half, she found the courage to step out into the darkness, to let the fractured images churn back up from the black well of lost things. She let them rise to the surface and find their way out, telling her Guide in halting, stumbling, choked, sobbing, torturous words the splinters and shards she could recall from the past month. She felt him cringe against her back as she told him about the pictures in her head, all the terrible, bloody things they wanted her to do, that they tried to convince her to use her Sentinel senses for, nothing she would ever, ever agree to, fighting them, determined to die first. 

And then there was the punishment, which she would probably have kept from him, if the words hadn't developed a momentum, almost a will, of their own. When she put up resistance, refused to see things their way, fought the brainwashing, the punishment was always the same, the excruciating idea they planted in her head, the image that seemed so much like reality, of Sam lying crumpled on the ground at her feet. And the blood on her hands that would never come off. And the absolute, soul-shattering belief--the very stuff hell was made of--that she was the one responsible, that she, a Sentinel, had killed her Guide, that she had done the one unforgivable thing. 

"Oh, my God, Beth. My poor, poor Beth. I'm so sorry, baby. Oh, sweetheart," Sam kept saying, over and again, holding her so tightly, rocking her so tenderly. 

There was something wet on her face, and she didn't remember when she had started to cry. It was silent, just the tears streaming down her cheeks. And it was just like her pain, voiceless, because no words could ever properly convey the magnitude of her suffering. 

"Close your eyes, Beth. That's good. Just rest. You just did a very hard thing. It's time to rest now. It's time to remember you're safe. No one's ever going to hurt you like that again, sweetheart. I promise. Oh God, I promise, Beth." 

Sam was her Guide, and she listened to him, closing her eyes. His hands were folded across her chest, and she reached for them, holding them, like a lifeline. As she was drifting off, another fuzzy image floated across her mind. It was her office in San Francisco and a woman, someone who was only vaguely familiar, someone she couldn't quite place. The woman was asking for help, but Elizabeth couldn't, wouldn't, help her. And there was the same edgy feeling of menace she'd been experiencing all day. And she'd sent the woman away, feeling so relieved when she was gone. In her mind's eye, the woman was obscured and out of focus somehow. She couldn't get a clear view. At the same time, there was a name that kept moving through her thoughts. 

//But who is Alicia Bannister?// 

* * *

Jim lay in bed, following the urgent ebb and flow of voices in the bedroom down the hall. //I'm sure Elizabeth didn't have this in mind when she said she didn't mind the eavesdropping.// But no degree of shame could pull his senses away from their impassioned lovemaking. He listened to Elizabeth rising and falling over her husband, the smooth glide of skin against skin, the dip and swirl of lips and tongues and fingers, low murmurs of satisfaction, sharp sighs of pleasure. It was the music of the ages. It was the natural order of the universe. It was more right than anything ever could be, Sentinel loving Guide, now and always. 

His envy of Elizabeth was intricate. It had many threads, and this lay at the core of it. She was fully merged with her Guide. And he wasn't. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Oh God, how many times had he made the joke in his own mind that if Sandburg were a woman he'd already have gotten him to the altar. But it was no joke. The sharp claw of instinct insinuated itself into his gut. //Want him. Need him. Now.// Any resigned thought he'd ever had of giving Blair up without a fight vanished. This Guide was his and no one else's. There would never be another for him. The Guide must stay. The Guide must be bound to him, now and always. 

The true extent of his own folly suddenly hit him with the force of a freight train. He had been fighting against nature all this time, and he would not come out of it a winner. And neither would his Guide. Three months ago, he had wilfully chosen the exact opposite of everything he should have. He had pushed his Guide away in a time of danger, instead of holding him close. He had sensed the other one on his partner and spurned him, instead of fighting for him. His Guide had paid dearly for Jim's stupidity. And when Blair did miraculously come back to life, Jim had not given him the only three words that would ever matter between them, the words he'd begged God so desperately for a second chance to say. //Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.// 

The urgent rhythm built, getting close now. An image sprang to life in his mind. It was Blair, naked and beautiful and oh so willing, in his bed, in his arms, Blair beneath him, against him, over him, on him, in him, around him, everywhere, all at once. It was Blair groping and teasing, twisting and writhing, touching and tasting. It was low groans, growls, sighs, sobs, grunts, wails, whimpers, gasps, soul-shattering screams of sheer, fucking ecstasy. It was Blair the incomparable vision. And Blair the sweet music. Blair the intoxicating scent. Blair the texture of velvet and silk. Blair the delicious savor. It was Blair filling his senses, imprinting on them, immersing himself so deep into Jim's soul that there would never again be any separation between them, only this hallowed union, always and forever. 

He stroked himself in time to the lovely pictures in his head, hips arching upward off the bed, as if trying to reach for the fantasy images. //Yes. Yes. Yes. Want it. Want it. Want it.// The world was shattering. The blood was pounding behind his ears like a symphony of jackhammers. The darkness was breaking apart. Just thinking about it was so damned good. But then, just as he was about to come, his senses betrayed him, the sweet vision collapsing like a house of cards. As release coursed through him, he felt, instead, the icy dampness of Blair pulled from the fountain, the cold mouth beneath his as he'd tried to give back the breath torn from Blair's body. 

//NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!// 

He was up and off the bed and crumpled to the floor in an instant. The nausea shot through him in waves. He fought it, too shaken to make it to the bathroom. //Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!// He curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself, rocking, his whole body trembling. His senses did not play around. This time, he recognized their warning with perfect clarity. He had not made things right with his Guide, he had not earned Blair's love, he had not helped his partner fully reclaim his rightful place among the living. He lay there a long while, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to calm down. And when he finally pulled himself together, he picked himself up off the floor, washed himself off, threw on a pair of boxers for decency's sake and went in search of his Guide. 

After looking in Blair's empty bedroom, he found him downstairs in the living room, huddled on the sofa, staring blankly out the window. The moonlight touched him, casting him in a blue glow, like some faerie vision. But when Blair heard him and turned around, the vision shattered, just as his fantasy had. The beautiful face was looking haggard, a forlorn expression in those dark-circled eyes, the previously bountiful lips pressed with sorrow. Strong emotion emanated off his Guide, and it was something Jim would have dodged a hail of bullets, walked through a wall of fire, driven into the heart of a hurricane to take away. It was utter despair. 

"Oh God, Chief," he said, reaching for his Guide, taking him into his arms. "I'm so sorry. God, am I sorry." 

He hugged his friend tightly against him, not in passion or possession or even expectation of what might come, but with simple, animal tenderness, offering his body, his warmth, his strength as comfort. At first, Blair stayed limp in his arms, holding back, but then the slender arms went around his waist and tears trickled, then coursed, down his bare chest. It was only then that he realized Blair had never cried and neither had he. The thought brought tears to his own eyes, but he resisted. Right now, he was on the most important mission of his life, to be there for his Guide, to see him through this difficult journey. The tears could wait. They were part of him, had been since that sickening moment at the top of the steps outside Hargrove Hall when he just knew. The time would come, must come, when he'd set them free, but it would be later, after he'd held his Guide in his arms, listening and witnessing and comforting while he mourned. 

"I wasn't sure if you still liked me anymore," Blair confessed, his voice muffled against Jim's shoulder. 

Jim tightened his arms around the too-thin frame. "Good God, Blair, how could you think that? You're...Jesus, this is hard to say...you're everything I have." 

Blair looked up at him. "But we haven't been close since...you know." 

Jim wiped the tears from his cheeks, pushed back damp strands of hair. "I'm sorry." 

"It hurt me," Blair whispered. 

Jim's resolve to hold back the tears was tested. He could hear the catch in his own voice. "Oh God, Blair, I am so sorry. I never meant to...the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you again. It's just been really hard for me to face up to what I did. And what I didn't do. I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I didn't protect you. I can't forgive myself for that. And I wasn't sure if you could forgive me either." 

"Jim, I _never_ blamed you. I told you that, and I meant it. I thought _you_ still blamed _me_. For betraying you." 

Jim's jaw clenched. "You didn't betray me, Blair. I was an asshole." 

"But I helped Alex. Thanks to me, she got away with the nerve gas, and she sold it to terrorists. And it was used in that attack in Madrid." 

"We don't know that for sure." 

"But probably. And even if it wasn't, it will be used sometime. How can you possibly forgive me for that when you're...you? When you care about justice more than anything else?" 

"Because there's nothing to forgive. You didn't know she was a criminal. You didn't know she was going to steal the nerve gas. All you did was help someone who was in pain, who needed the kind of help only you could give. That's just you being you. It's a part of your nature that I admire...that I love. And justice is _not_ the most important thing to me, Chief." 

"But you said you couldn't trust me anymore." 

Jim cringed. "I was a prick, Blair. I swear I didn't mean it." 

"Then why did you say it?" Blair asked, watching him closely. 

Jim had to search himself for the answer. "I guess it's because...it felt like you had taken something away from me. And I had to get even. God, I'm sorry, Chief. That was such a lousy thing to do." 

"I don't understand, Jim. What did I take from you?" 

Jim hesitated a long moment. It was the step he'd been too afraid to take for too long. It was superstition, he realized, to believe that, once he admitted to Blair how very much he needed him, Blair would just disappear like some kind of apparition. But it was a superstition that had all the power of terror attached to it. 

Jim took a deep breath and a leap of faith. "Yourself," he said very quietly, unable to quite look Blair in the face. 

Blair frowned. "You mean because of Alex?" 

"Christ, Chief, I don't know any other way to say this...I was jealous. I hardly saw you that whole week. And my instincts were just going crazy. And I had that awful dream about killing you. And then you came home that night, the night I pulled the gun on you, and you had _her_ on you. And you didn't tell me about her and that felt like _you_ didn't trust _me_. The whole thing drove me out of my mind with sheer, fucking jealousy." 

Blair's face was alight with curiosity. Jim could almost see the lightning fast mind at work. It was the first sign of animation Jim had seen in him for three months. "Maybe it's a territorial thing?" 

Jim shrugged. "I really don't know why it was, Chief. I only know how it felt. Like I was losing you. And you're _my_ Guide and _my_ best friend. And just _mine_ , period. And your helping Alex made me sick with jealousy. And it would have even if she had turned out to be the nicest person in the world. And I should have talked to you about it. I should have done anything other than what I did. If I hadn't pushed you away, she wouldn't have gotten the chance to hurt you. And I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life." 

Blair sighed. "Jim, Alex is the one to blame for what happened to me. Not you. I swear, I never _once_ blamed you. Not even in the moment. Actually, when I knew she was really going to do it, I..." 

"What?" Jim prompted. 

"I called out for you. Even though I thought she'd already killed you. I just wanted you so badly, so unbelievably badly. They say in a moment like that people call out for whoever means true comfort for them, usually their mother. But for me, it wasn't Naomi. It was you, Jim. Only you." 

Jim tightened his grip on his partner's waist. He buried his face in Blair's hair. He had no words equal to the intensity of his feelings. 

"I never wanted you to see me like this. I tried so hard to keep it in," Blair said sadly. 

"But why, Blair?" 

"Oh man, you have no idea how humiliating this is. It's all coming out now, and there's no stopping it. And I'm sitting here bawling like a baby all over you. I always wanted you to think I was brave, that I could handle myself. But when I knew I was going to die, I was so fucking terrified," he said, shaking convulsively, beginning to cry again. 

Jim ran his hands through Blair's hair, across his back, down his arms, trying to soothe him. "I'm so, so sorry, Chief." 

Blair pulled back, anger flashing through the tears. "You really don't get it, man. What I want, what I've _always_ wanted, is your respect. Not your fucking _pity_ ," he said the last word as if it tasted bad. 

"It's not pity, Chief. It's just me being so sorry you ever went through this, that you were alone, that I wasn't there to help you. It makes me hurt, Chief. For you. And for me." 

"I didn't try to fight," Blair confessed softly, dropping his eyes. "When she was the one who showed up at the office, I really thought...and it just didn't matter anymore, so I gave in and did whatever she wanted. I _really_ never wanted you to know that." 

"She pulled a gun on you, Chief. If you'd fought back, she would have shot you, and that could have easily been fatal. You did _exactly_ the right thing, Blair. You survived. And I have all the respect in the world for that. And I thank God for it, every moment of every day. And you _do_ have my respect. For a long time now. You've earned it, and you deserve it. And you're not going to lose it for doing the best anyone could possibly have hoped in an impossible situation at the hands of a madwoman." 

"Do you really mean that, Jim?" 

"You know me, Chief. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. I think you were very brave in how you dealt with Alex. And I think you're even more brave now. I don't hold back on expressing my feelings because I think it's the courageous thing to do. Just the opposite. It's so damn hard for me. I _honor_ your ability to tell me these things and to let yourself grieve. And I know it was hard for you to do it in front of me. And I have to thank you for that. I can't tell you how much it's helped me that you've shared it with me. If I couldn't be there for you when you were hurt, at least I can be here for you now." 

"Thanks, man, thanks," Blair said, his voice raspy and shaking. 

Jim hugged him tighter, and they sat together quietly a long moment. 

"I feel better now," Blair said, sounding surprised. "It's been like this huge weight crushing me. It's gone now. I feel lighter. Although still sad too." 

"Give yourself some time." 

"I guess it will take a while before I'm more like my old self again. Some days, I go around feeling like I belong more to the dead than the living. Like it's all been a big mistake. Like I'm not really supposed to be here." 

Jim shuddered. "It's no mistake, Blair. You're alive. And it's for a reason, a very _good_ reason. And as far as I'm concerned, it's the greatest miracle there could possibly be." 

"I really thought you wanted me out of your life." 

"Without you, I wouldn't _have_ a life." 

"You're the best friend I've ever had." 

"So are you." 

Blair laid his head on Jim's shoulder, and Jim stroked his head and back, rhythmically, lulling him. When he felt Blair growing limp with sleepiness, he urged him off the couch, guided him up the stairs, to his bedroom. He helped Blair climb into bed and slid in beside him, gathering up his partner into his arms, holding him while he drifted off, falling asleep himself. 

<<<Blair was someplace, he didn't know where. But somehow it was familiar. He had been here before. He had just forgotten. It was an interior. It was white, smooth and cool as ivory. There were benches here and there. And the room was decorated with carved moldings, scenes of lovemaking and hunting and rituals he did not recognize. And jaguars. Many of them. It was the Temple of the Jaguars, and he had visited it before, he realized now, when he had been waiting in the grey place between life and death. 

Three figures approached him. They too were wearing white. It was Jim, Sam and Elizabeth, or rather spirits bearing their likenesses. He could hear them speaking among themselves, in a voice that was the sound of the place itself. 

"He's returned," noted the Sam spirit. 

"That is good," said the Elizabeth likeness. 

"We knew he would," said the image of Jim. 

"Do you know why you're here?" asked Sam. 

"Not really," he admitted. 

"What have you learned?" Jim asked. 

"I'm not sure what you mean." 

"The answer is inside you," Elizabeth assured him. 

"Um...well, I guess what it means to be a Guide." 

"And what does it mean to be a Guide?" Sam quizzed. 

"It means becoming one with my Sentinel," he said, the answer suddenly clear to him. 

The three of them conferred. 

"You have earned the right to hear the mystery," Jim explained. 

"In order to attain the light, it is necessary to traverse every aspect of darkness," Elizabeth told him. 

"Those who survive the dark night of the soul have passed the final test," Sam said. 

"As you have," Jim added. 

"Then they may truly be of service," said Elizabeth. 

"Only then are they prepared to meet their destiny," Jim said. 

"A bond that has been tested is one that will endure," said Sam. 

"While a faith that is never questioned becomes brittle," Elizabeth added. 

"Every true Shaman dies twice," Jim told him. 

"It's the only way to live in both worlds at once," Sam explained. 

"Look toward the horizon, Shaman," Elizabeth said, pointing, "The night is passing." 

He turned to look and found himself face-to-face with his own image, staring deeply into his own eyes, which weren't really his at all. "How will you see the dawn if you don't open your eyes?">>>

He blinked, and again it was not his own eyes he looked into. This time though, they were much paler blue, the color of an early morning sky, beautiful eyes, familiar eyes. He refocused his vision and recognized Jim above him, leaning over him, his face filled with concern and fear and care and love. Love. The realization was like the sun dawning on the horizon. And his eyes were wide open to see it this time. He stared up into Jim's face, so close to his own, letting his expression become naked, an advertisement for his want, his hunger. Jim crouched over him, taking his head between both hands, holding it in place, searching his eyes, asking permission. He parted his lips. This was his answer. Jim understood perfectly. 

The touching of their lips and tongues was an electric pulse between them. And finally Blair saw it all, the mystery completely revealed to him. Sweet kiss of life, shared breath. This was the way back. 

Jim pulled away and looked at him. "Are you sure?" 

He traced a cheek bone with his finger. "I need you, Jim. I need you to help me feel alive again. I need you to help me celebrate that I'm still here." 

Jim did not have to be invited twice. He was a man who had walked back from the edge of the world, through the wilds of loss, the tangle of despair, the empty, arid plain that would have been his life without Blair. For those few, brief moments that day when Blair was gone, he, too, had been cast out of the circle of life, the cold from his partner's body creeping inside him, freezing his terrified heart. And now that Blair was ready to step back into the magic circle, he felt the living warmth finally return, the gentle glow, melting the last icy vestiges of that nightmare by the fountain, unchaining his heart. Together, he and Blair had so much to celebrate. 

Jim knew with perfect certainty that no part of Blair should be passed over in this celebration. There was nothing about him Jim wasn't grateful for. He also knew that he had to love Blair with everything he was, his whole body, his mind, his senses, an open heart. Because there was no part of him that didn't belong to Blair. It was such a simple truth. It stunned him that he'd somehow managed to remain blind to it for three long years. 

Because he'd wanted to be blind. But not now. Not ever again. 

He leaned over Blair, supporting his weight on one elbow. He kissed Blair's forehead, his cheeks, his chin, the tip of his nose, the line of his jaw--rejoicing in the beautiful shape of the face, the underlying architecture of bone, the warm skin, soft and tender in places, stubble roughened in others. He ran a strand of Blair's hair between his fingers, reveling in the texture, following the sensual curls as they flowed like water across the cotton pillowcase. He rubbed his face against Blair's chest, a ritual movement both solemn and joyous, praising the beating heart pulsing with Blair's excitement, the warmth radiating out from his center, the catch of breath in Blair's lungs as he gasped with pleasure. Jim took it all in with a glad heart, giving thanks for the precious life so miraculously restored. 

It amazed Jim how one person could be so much, could be everything. How he could find the cosmos in the bend of an elbow, the perfect arch of a foot, the sweet hollow of a hip, a smooth muscled stomach that dipped and trembled at every slight touch of his breath. Or how nipples could be so warm and responsive and alive that he couldn't tease, tongue, nibble, kiss, suck them enough. Or how a cock could taste so sweet he wanted to worship it with his mouth, his lips, his tongue, forever. Or how strong Blair's ass cheeks felt in his hands as he squeezed and caressed them, cupping them as he guided Blair's body, rubbing it against his own in the most intimate, exquisite pleasure. 

Jim had not forgotten the delicious fantasy he'd had when he first realized this was what he wanted from Blair, what he needed, what all Sentinels and Guides were destined to be to each other. Now, he had told his Guide and helped his Guide and earned his Guide. Now, he had won the right to fill his senses with Blair, to let that vital essence sink into him and become part of him, as much as his own bones and blood and sinews were. He opened his senses fully to his beloved and welcomed that sweet knowledge. He drank in the lovely sight of a wild, frenzied, aroused Blair spread out before him. He relished Blair's delicious flavor as it exploded on his tongue, the tang and zest and sweetness that were his beloved. He worshipped with his touch all the various textures of Blair's body, rough and smooth, warm, downy, tender. He took in the unique scent that was all Blair, a complicated tangle of spice and sweet herbal essences and something dark and rich like the good earth after a summer rain. And every one of Blair's gasps, moans, sighs, screams of pleasure echoed in his hearing, struck a chord in his soul, at last, the music of the ages. 

Blair was never one to be left behind at a party, and he gave as good as he got, Sentinel or not. As Jim learned him, so he learned Jim. As Jim took in the sight, smell, scent, touch, taste of him, so Blair returned the favor. He threw himself into their lovemaking with a zeal only a man so recently returned from beyond the pale could have managed. He had at last found the way back, and he gloried in it, dedicated himself to its pursuit with all the enthusiasm of his nature, extolled the pleasure, praised the love, reveled in it, consecrated himself to it with a near religious fervor. 

In their coming togther, Jim and Blair--Sentinel and Guide--forged anew an ancient and primal bond, one that had existed among the chosen pairs of their kind since the world was young. They shared their bodies and their pleasure, opened their hearts and their minds, took each other as mates, partners, Sentinel and Shaman, holy dyad, now and always. 

Coming down from his euphoria, it took a while for Blair to realize that the body beneath his was shaking. He turned over and found Jim trying to choke back the sobs. 

He caressed his lover and pressed a kiss over his heart. "Let it go, Jim. You told me it was a courageous thing to do. I know you're that brave. We're both long overdue for this." 

The tears had been inside Jim since that moment at the top of the stairs when he just knew, and finally, their time had come and he set them free. He pressed his face into Blair's beautiful, silken curls and sobbed. Blair held him, as Jim had so recently comforted him, letting his love cry, a good long while, until it was all gone and the heavy, heavy weight was at last lightened. 

At some point, Jim managed to choke out, "Oh God, I love you so much, Chief." 

As Blair petted the spiky hair at the nape of Jim's neck and smiled into Jim's shoulder, he answered,"I love you, too." 

* * *

"There any coffee, Detective?" Ramsey asked, sounding as if it wasn't the first time he'd posed the question. 

Jim snapped back to himself. "Sure, Ramsey, pass me your cup." 

He had to get his mind off Blair and back on the job. But he couldn't get over it. It was just the most incredible thing. Coffee percolating. The sun coming up. People going to work. The everyday fabric of life went on just the same, as if nothing had happened. But something had happened. And he was so changed. Jim Ellison would never be the same again. 

That morning, lying in bed, watching the sun come up, he'd held Blair, still sleeping, in his arms, and he'd had his first inkling of just how different things were. He'd hardly recognized himself, and that gave him a moment of terror. //Pansy ass queers. Fucking faggots. Tinkerbells. Fairies. Homos. Perverts.// He'd never used those ugly words against anyone, but still they'd lurked in the dark underbelly of his imagination, a sad legacy from his father. It had pretty much been a minor miracle he hadn't turned out to be the same kind of hateful bigot. So nothing in his life could have prepared him for falling in love with another man. //But it's not just any man. It's Blair. And he's my Guide. And this feels bigger than sexual preference or anything remotely personal.// 

//This feels right. Like it's meant to be.// 

Blair had eventually stirred and opened his eyes and realized where he was, who he was with, what they had done. And froze. 

Jim had tightened his hold on him. "Are you sorry?" he'd asked, feeling like the world was standing still until he got his answer. 

"No," Blair had said, sounding tentative and a little scared. "Are you?" 

Jim had shaken his head. "No. I really meant it when I said I love you." 

Blair had smiled then, and it was the good old days back again, the smile reaching those beautiful blue eyes, filling them with light. "I love you too." 

They'd held each other for a long while after that, saying little, becoming used to the new thing between them. Finally, Blair had gotten up to take a shower, to get ready to go to the university. They both dressed, and Jim had walked him downstairs. There was no one around, and he'd kissed Blair goodbye at the door. It was a sweet kiss, a hungry kiss, a kiss full of the promise of things yet to come. A kiss between men. 

And he was William Ellison's son. And the sun had risen the way it always did. And the world was still turning, just like any other day. And nothing would ever be the same again. 

"Okay, Detective, thanks for the coffee. I'm gonna go relieve Hardy out back." 

Jim nodded. "Sure. Okay, Ramsey." 

The officer grabbed his hat and went out the side door. Jim settled back down to his coffee and the paper and recollections of last night that made him grin in a rather silly fashion to himself. But the tranquility didn't last long. All at once the ordinary fabric of time ruptured, diverging in an almost schizophrenic way, everything rushing into sudden, manic fast forward, but somehow still managing to feel like every millisecond was an eternity. His senses spiked off the chart with danger, and he recognized its source this time. He raced into the living room in time to see two figures dressed in black, both wearing ski masks, just as Elizabeth had described, just like the thief in the Oberon security video, in the process of kicking in the front door. 

"Get down!" he screamed at Elizabeth and Sam, who quickly dove behind the sofa. He took up a strategic spot, shielded by the big chair, positioning himself between the intruders and the frightened couple. He hurriedly pushed a button on his cell phone. "This is Ellison. We're under attack. Need emergency backup. Now!" he managed to say, just as the shooting started. 

The assailants were using semi-automatic weapons, and it was like watching the room explode as they sprayed bullets everywhere, sending glass shattering, wood splintering, the stuffing from the sofa and chair cushions billowing into the air like a freakish snow fall. //Where the _fuck_ is that backup?// He traded rounds with the perps, but they had taken up positions on opposite sides of the room, both partially protected by curves in the wall, making it next to impossible to take out either of them, even with the accuracy of Sentinel shooting. He could still hear both Sam and Elizabeth's heartbeats, racing with terror, but both of them still alive and well, at least for the moment. //This is _not_ going to end this way, damn it! We're getting out of this room in one piece. I did not find my way back to Blair just to have that _bitch_ ruin it again.// 

Unfortunately, the fates were not fully cooperating with him. He heard the empty clicking sound as his gun ran out of ammunition. //Shit!// 

The shooters stopped firing, the one giving the other a sign, her Sentinel senses having picked up the noise, realizing they were now defenseless. They advanced on the three of them. The one seeking revenge headed toward Jim. The other, who was simply doing a job, targeted the couple. Jim could see her eyes, blue ice, determined, without humanity. Blair had said it would come down to something like this, and now, three months later, it had. //Sorry, Chief, God am I sorry. I wish it hadn't turned out this way.// 

Thankfully, the fates were fickle in their favor. The black clad figure aimed the gun at Sam and would have fired if the rifle hadn't jammed. He then tried to use it as a club to hit Sam over the head, but Elizabeth was too quick for him and too angry. She landed a good, solid kick to his groin, with all the protective fury of a Sentinel whose mate is endangered. That distracted Jim's nemesis long enough for her to hear the sirens with her Sentinel hearing and do what she did best, look out for herself. She left her partner crumpled on the floor, clutching his privates, howling in pain, as she dove through a window, rolling skillfully to her feet, getting away. Again. 

Jim got up, taking out his handcuffs, when another shot rang out. "Get down," he screamed at the couple, who were just picking themselves up. They both threw themselves back to the floor. 

"It's okay, Detective, I got him." 

Jim looked up and saw a red stain spreading across the intruder's black shirt, just over the heart. Ramsey stood in the doorway, gun in hand. 

"Sam, Elizabeth, go to the bedroom and get your things together. We need to get out of here as soon as possible," Jim told them, unable to miss Elizabeth's horrified expression as she was forced to walk past the dead man on her way out of the room. 

Jim stalked over to his fellow officer, incensed. "Shit! What the hell was that, Ramsey? The perp was already down. And you could have easily hit one of us." 

"I saw him going for his gun. It was still in reach." 

"It was jammed." 

Ramsey looked down at the gun in his hand, his expression changing. "Oh, shit. But how was I supposed to know that, Detective? I see a guy going for a gun with an unarmed officer and two civilians in his sight, and I react. What else am I supposed to do?" 

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, okay, Ramsey. That's enough for now. We'll let Captain Banks sort it out when he gets here. We still need someone securing the perimeter. And the perps got in here somehow. We need to find out if we've got officers down." 

"Sure thing, Detective. But you are going to back me up on this, right? Tell the Captain I was only trying to look out for you and the doctor and her husband?" 

"I'll tell him everything I know, which includes that I had my attention focused on Dr. Knowlton and Mr. Crawford when the shot was fired. I honestly don't know if he was going for the gun or not." 

"Why would I lie, Detective?" 

"Nobody's accusing you of lying, Ramsey. Maybe you got a little carried away in all the excitement. Who could blame you? It looks like a battlefield in here." 

"Thanks, Detective. I knew you'd see it my way." 

//Yeah, Ramsey, I see more than you think, buddy. And I hear a lot, too.// 

A swarm of cops stormed through the door. "Jim, are you all right? Where are Dr. Knowlton and Mr. Crawford?" Simon demanded, worried. 

"I sent them to pack up their stuff. They're both shaken, but still basically in one piece." 

"What the hell happened here?" 

"Two assailants. All in black, wearing ski masks, just like Dr. Knowlton described. Semi-automatic rifles. Kicked down the front door. Our guys out front?" 

"Webster's on the way to the hospital with a gun shot wound to the stomach. I'm afraid Patterson didn't make it." 

"Shit! That bitch is not getting away with it this time! Just thank God Blair wasn't here." 

"What are you talking about, Jim?" 

"I'm afraid I know who's targeting Sentinels, Simon. It's Alex Barnes." 

"No, Jim, that can't be. Surely she wouldn't come back to Cascade when she knows every cop in town wants to take her down." 

"I know it doesn't make sense, sir. But I'm sure it was her. I've been having these strange episodes with my senses since that day on the roof. Just before the perps broke in, it finally got strong enough for me to recognize it. It's the same terrible feeling I had the last time I ran up against her. And that's not the only problem we have." 

"You mean the fact that no one could possibly have found this place unless they were tipped off by somebody in the PD?" 

"And I have a very good idea I know who it was. We had the perp down and disarmed when Officer Ramsey finally shows up, after several minutes of very loud gun play, and he puts a bullet in the guy's heart." 

"To keep him from talking?" 

"That would be my guess. And he lied about it when he said the guy was going for his gun. And who was supposed to be watching the mysterious doctor that day up on the roof when he got away?" 

Simon nodded. "I see where you're going. I'll have Rafe look into it." 

"We need to get Dr. Knowlton and Mr. Crawford to a new location as soon as possible." 

"Already arranged for. As soon as they're ready to go, we have a patrol car waiting to take them." 

"And we'll need just our people on the detail this time. It's gotta be cops we trust." 

"I'll see to it," Simon agreed. 

"And Simon, as a personal favor..." 

"What the hell? Jim!" He heard Blair outside, slamming his car door, starting to panic, breaking into a run. 

"...I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention to Sandburg that Alex Barnes is involved in this. We're in here, Blair," he called to his partner. 

"Jim--" Simon started to protest. 

"Oh man, what the hell is going on? God, are you okay, Jim? Sam and Elizabeth? Oh shit, are they..." he asked in a breathless stream, nearly hyperventilating as he noticed the sheet-covered body on the floor. 

Jim took Blair by the shoulders to steady him, turning him away from the dead perp. "They're fine, Chief. Just slow down and catch your breath. Everything's okay, I promise." 

Simon took stock of Blair's wide, wild eyes, his pale face, his shaking hands. "We'll do it your way for now, Jim. But I'll be monitoring the situation," he said. 

Jim nodded. "Thanks, Simon." 

"Take it easy, kid. Only the good die young, and that means Ellison's gonna live to be a hundred," he said, clapping Blair on the back. 

"Very funny, sir," Jim said, as Simon left to make the security arrangements at the new safe house. 

"It's _not_ funny, Jim. You could have..." 

He squeezed Blair's shoulders. "But I didn't." 

"This was way, way too close, man." 

"Try not to think about it, Chief. You'll only make yourself crazy." 

"How the hell am I supposed to _not_ think about it?" he demanded and then lowered his voice to Sentinel range. "I love you, Jim. I don't want to lose you." 

"I know, Chief. And I love you, too. And when I have you alone again I'm going to show you just how glad I am that I made it through this today." 

"Promise?" 

Jim smiled, running his hands up and down his partner's arms. "Absolutely, Chief. And I never break my promises." 

That earned him a tentative smile, and Jim felt the hard knot in his stomach begin to unclench. He'd just gotten his Blair back, and he didn't want anything to cause a return to the silent, angry, heartbreaking Blair of the past three months. He would do anything to prevent that, including piss off his partner by withholding information from him. And if Blair stayed upset much longer, Jim was going to lay a hug on him that would be the talk of the CPD for years to come, and as much as he wanted to comfort his lover, he didn't think either one of them was ready for that. 

* * *

It took about an hour, but the turmoil finally calmed down. Elizabeth and Sam were safely settled at the new house, with teams from Major Crimes taking turns backing up Jim and Blair. Rafe and Brown had the first watch, and they'd taken up positions around the house. 

"I can't tell you how sorry I am this happened," Simon apologized to the couple. 

Sam shook his head. "We appreciate all you've done for us, Captain. We know it's not your fault they're still coming after us." 

Elizabeth had not been able to sit still since they'd arrived, her tension coming out in excess energy, as she paced the room. "Do you think Sam would be safer if we split up, Captain? It's really me they're after. I don't want him caught in the crossfire." 

"Beth! Forget it! There's no way I'm leaving you. This topic is not up for discussion. You hear me?" 

"Sam, we have to do whatever will keep us the safest. Tell him, Captain." 

"Well..." Simon stalled, not wanting to get caught in the middle of an argument between husband and wife, much less Sentinel and Guide. 

Blair followed Jim into the living room from the kitchen, where Jim had been double-checking security. "What do you mean you want me to go back to the loft? No way, man. Not without you." 

"Chief, this is not up for discussion. This just became way too dangerous for me to take a chance on having you around." 

"Well, duh, Jim. Guess what? That's when you need me the most. I can help you with this." 

"Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you? I almost lost you once. I won't risk it again." 

"Me too," Elizabeth agreed, turning to Sam. "So maybe I only _thought_ I lost you, but it was real to me. And I never, never want to go through that again." 

"Simon, tell him he's finished on this assignment," Jim begged. 

"Tell him he'd be safer if we split up," Elizabeth pleaded. 

"Great! Now all the Sentinels are freaking out at once," Simon muttered under his breath. 

"I heard that!" Jim and Elizabeth said in unison. 

"Of course you did," Simon said with a heavy sigh. "Listen, I'm not getting in the middle of this. And Sandburg never listens to me anyway. And I'm betting stubbornness is pretty much a universal personality trait of Guides everywhere. I can tell you that the location of this house is known only to Major Crimes staff. Nobody else. The Commissioner himself doesn't know where it is. So you should all be safe here. Other than that, I'm going to leave you to sort it out amongst yourselves. Ellison, I expect you to check in every two hours." 

Jim nodded, and Simon saw himself out. 

Blair held up a hand. "Don't even mention it again. I'm not going anywhere without you." 

"Me either," Sam told Beth, leaving no room for argument. 

"You are one headstrong man," she said. 

"So are you," Jim told Blair. 

Sam kissed his wife on the cheek. "Yeah, well, that's why you love me." 

Blair only smiled at Jim. 

Elizabeth continued to pace the room, without any regard for the carpets, the crawling feeling only growing worse by the minute. "There's something I have to tell you." 

"I think I already know," Jim said. 

"You felt it too?" 

He nodded. 

"Have you felt it before?" she asked. 

"What are you guys talking about?" Blair wanted to know. 

"The bad feeling is back?" Sam asked Elizabeth. 

"With a vengeance," she said. 

"Wait, so you're having the same kind of sensory warning Jim is?" Blair asked. 

"Apparently," she said. "When did you first start experiencing it?" 

"On the roof," Jim answered. "But today was the first time I really understood what it was." 

"Me too. And I remembered when I'd felt it before. And I finally understood something I was remembering that was all muddled. There was this name going around in my head, but I didn't know who it was. But that's who kidnapped me. That's who broke into the house today, the one who got away. Alicia Bannister." 

Blair gasped and all the color left his face. "Oh my God!" 

"You know her?" Elizabeth asked, surprised. 

"As Alex Barnes," Jim explained. 

"Oh no. Oh Blair, I'm so sorry," she said. 

He shook his head, getting control of himself. "You knew, didn't you?" 

Jim couldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I didn't want you to have to go through that again. You just finally dealt with it. I didn't want there to be a setback." 

"Jesus, Jim, give me some credit. Is that what all this big production about my going back to the loft was all about?" 

"She almost killed you once, Blair. I _have_ to protect you this time." 

"Well, back off, man. I'm not some fragile flower here. I can deal." 

"You weren't there today, Blair. It was like all hell broke loose. I just don't want you to get caught in the middle of that. Okay?" 

Blair sighed. "Okay. But next time, don't leave me in the dark, man. That's not the way to look out for me." 

Jim nodded. "All right. I promise. Next time, you know what I know." 

"Good." 

"Elizabeth, can you tell me what you remember? How did you meet Alex Barnes?" Jim asked. 

"She came to me as a patient. She said her name was Alicia Bannister. She was very agitated, complaining about heightened senses and terrible headaches. But somehow she just gave me this very bad feeling, and even though there was nothing amiss about her vital signs, I didn't quite believe her." 

"Why?" Blair asked. 

Elizabeth frowned, trying to put her finger on it. "She just seemed a little too...eager to tell me about her senses. None of the others ever reacted that way. In fact, they'd go to almost any lengths to avoid it. I usually had to put on a little demonstration of my own abilities to get them to confide in me. I mean, I'm a _psychiatrist_. They didn't want me to think they were crazy." 

Blair's eyes went wide. "Others? You've worked with other Sentinels?" 

She nodded. "They just started showing up about three years ago. There have been nine in all so far. I don't know. I think it's my role somehow in this whole Sentinel thing. Helping other Sentinels when they first get their senses, helping them understand what's happening to them, until they find their Guides. At first, I just thought it was a coincidence. I treat trauma, and that's how many Sentinels acquire their senses. Not to mention the fact that the senses themselves can be pretty traumatic at first. But after a while, the sheer numbers made that impossible to believe. There's just not that much coincidence in the world." 

"So that's what you meant about proof," Blair said, understanding at last. 

"Yes. I'm sorry I didn't tell you then. But I've never shared this work with anyone but Sam, and I couldn't quite trust myself to make that decision when my memory was still clouded and my judgment in question. I promised all the Sentinels I've worked with that I'd keep their secret, that I'd protect them. I just had to be sure." 

"No, I understand," Blair said. "So, Alex gave you the same bad feeling she did Jim?" 

" _This_ feeling," she said. "This horrible unnerving agitation, like I'm just ready to jump out of my skin. I've never been so freaked out in my life. And you have to understand, I'd never turned away another Sentinel. I'd never seen one of our kind as the enemy before. My first instinct was always to help." 

"But not her," Jim said. 

She shook her head decisively. "This morning after the shooting I remembered something else. A dream I had, after Alex came to my office the first time, before she came back for me. I was in the jungle, and I had a bow and arrow. And there was paint on my face, some kind of pattern. And I was hunting this spotted cat, tracking it, through the underbrush. And we came to this temple in the heart of the jungle, and it had all these elaborate carvings of..." 

"Jaguars," Blair finished the sentence for her. 

"Yes. Well, at least some kind of big cat, like the one I was hunting. How did you know? 

"You all have the same dream." 

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at that but went on. "When we got to the temple, the spotted cat...the jaguar...turned into the woman from my office, Alicia Bannister, or Alex Barnes it seems. She was desperately trying to get away from me. She tried to go into the temple, but the doors were locked against her. She had nowhere else to run. And I was standing there with the arrow pointed at her heart. And I didn't feel angry. It wasn't remotely personal. I just knew she had to die. And I did it. I pulled back the bow and shot the arrow...and I killed her." 

"Wow," Blair said finally. 

"You never told me," Sam said very softly. 

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "I never wanted you to know. It was such an appalling image. I was so cold about the killing." 

"It was a dream, Beth. It was also deeply symbolic. The kind of thing I need to know. So I can help you." 

"I realize that now. And I'm sorry." 

He looked like he still had plenty to say about it, but let the subject drop for the moment. 

"So none of the other Sentinels were like Alex?" Blair asked, needing more confirmation. 

"Not even remotely. I meant it when I said that Sentinels are called for a higher purpose. I worked with nine of them, and they all have that built-in programming, to serve the community, to protect, to use their gift for other people's benefit. Alex _is_ the aberration, Blair. You weren't wrong about Sentinels. Think of it like a birth defect, missing genetic information. Somehow, she got the gift without the innate sense of responsibility that's supposed to go along with it." 

"It never bothered you having other Sentinels around your Guide?" Jim asked, trying to judge his own feelings on some kind of spectrum. 

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Sam, who smiled. "Actually, it did. That's something I learned as my work went along. When I first started helping other Sentinels, I tried involving Sam in it. He'd done me so much good. It just made sense. But it made me so uncomfortable, so edgy that we decided it was be better if I went on alone. Before talking with you, Blair, I'd just thought it was some kind of jealousy, since Sam's my husband, or a boundary issue, needing to keep my personal and professional lives separate. But now..." 

"You think it's something inherent in the Sentinel-Guide relationship?" Blair guessed. 

"It's the only thing that makes sense. I mean, it was always okay after the Sentinels found their Guides. And this is fine now, having Jim here, perfectly comfortable. It's _unbonded_ Sentinels that unnerve me. I've been trying to explain it in some scientific way. But now, I think it's too large for that. It goes against my grain as a rational-thinker, but I have to believe..." 

"That it's destiny," Sam said. 

"One Guide for each Sentinel," Blair added. 

"Always and forever," Jim whispered, putting his hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"That's why Sam could never help any of the other Sentinels like he did me. He was a Guide, but he wasn't _their_ Guide. I had as much success as he did. I could give them a baseline of control, enough at least to keep it manageable. And that was always enough, because their own Guides would just show up, not long afterwards." 

"How?" Jim asked. 

She shrugged. "I have no idea. Somehow the Sentinels found me, and the Guides always found their Sentinels. They'd just mysteriously show up in San Francisco, for one reason or another. One came from as far away as Malaysia. And somehow they all ended up at my office. One came in to ask for directions to the Embarcadero. It was a very weird thing." 

"It's _so_ weird it's almost impossible to believe. And that says something coming from me," Blair said. 

"You said it, Chief," Jim agreed, teasing his Guide, who then elbowed him lightly in the ribs. 

Sam smiled. "I know it's an amazing story, but it's all true. It's like some kind of magnetic attraction. Sentinels and Guides always just seem to find one another. And recognize each other on sight." 

"Like we did," Elizabeth said, reaching for Sam's hand. 

"And us too," Blair said, smiling at Jim. 

"Even though I was kind of hard-headed about it at first," Jim admitted, taking Blair's hand. 

"Better late than never, big guy," Blair whispered. 

"I'm just glad it wasn't too late," Jim said, brushing Blair's hand lightly with his lips. 

Blair blushed beet red. "Um, big guy..." 

"It's always a sexual relationship, isn't it?" Jim asked, turning to Elizabeth. 

She nodded. "In all the pairs I've known. So I take it this is a new development for you guys?" 

They both nodded. 

"Congratulations!" Sam said, and Elizabeth smiled, happy for them. 

"Thanks," Blair said, blushing again. "Actually, you're the first people to know." 

"Then we're honored," Elizabeth said, and then her expression changed. "I should have known about Alex. I should have put the pieces together sooner." 

"Don't do that to yourself, Beth." Sam put an arm around her shoulders. 

"But she didn't have a Guide. She told me she'd had her senses for a number of months, and it's never been more than a matter of weeks, not in any of the Sentinels I've seen." 

"You think Alex went bad because she didn't find her Guide?" Jim asked. 

She shrugged. "I don't know which is cause and which is effect. I don't know if she's evil because she's unbonded or unbondable, too malformed to get a Guide. I don't know if something went wrong, and there was no Guide for her or the Guide died or couldn't reach her." 

"She _was_ in prison when she got the senses," Blair suggested. 

"So maybe that was it. But other pairs have found each other from continents away. I don't know. Maybe Alex was just _born_ wrong, so the Guide couldn't find her or wouldn't accept her. The one thing that seems clear is that having a Guide is absolutely necessary for a Sentinel. Because when you really think about it, without a Guide to make it into a gift, being a Sentinel is just another form of insanity." 

"Elizabeth, I need to know what you remember about the kidnapping," Jim said, as gently as possible. 

She nodded. "I'll try." 

"Don't push too hard," Sam told her, a hand on her shoulder. "You're still recovering. And I know you're still scared." 

She touched his face, tears coming to her eyes. "Thank you, love. But I _need_ to remember. We have to catch Alex." 

He nodded. "I'm here. Don't forget." 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

Jim sat down opposite her. "Can you recall anything of the day you were taken?" 

She frowned in concentration, closing her eyes. "I was working alone in the office, after hours, catching up on some paperwork. And these two people, all in black, with ski masks, burst in, and I had the same bad feeling I'd gotten from Alicia Bannister. And I just knew it was her. She took out something, and there was this funny sound, like air blowing, and a sharp pain in the side of my neck. And then nothing." 

"A dart gun," Jim said. 

"Alex has something of a penchant for indigenous South American weaponry," Blair explained. 

"Then what do you remember?" Jim probed further. 

Elizabeth hugged her knees to her chest, making herself small. "Well..." 

Sam pulled her close. "I'll tell this part, if you want." 

She nodded, eyes tightly closed, clutching his hand. 

"They used drugs, post-hypnotic suggestion, deprivation and other brainwashing techniques to try to get her to use her Sentinel senses for criminal purposes." 

"For killing," Beth clarified, her voice choked with horror. 

"Jesus! She wanted to create a Sentinel assassin, the perfect killer for hire, to rent out to any terrorist organization with enough money to pay. That's sick, even for Alex Barnes," Jim said with disgust. 

"If she can't destroy us outright, then she's going to try to turn us into what she is," Elizabeth said. 

"But why come back to Cascade?" Jim wanted to know. 

"She's compelled," Elizabeth said. 

Understanding animated Blair's face. "It's what you once said, Jim. What are the chances of two Sentinel appearing in Cascade at the same time, both falling in with me. That's the explanation. She was here _because of me_." 

Elizabeth nodded. "She needed a Guide. She couldn't find one of her own." 

"She wanted to take Blair from me?" Jim asked, his voice half strangled with emotion. 

"It was most likely an unconscious urge. But yes. That's probably why she gave you such a strong sense of danger, Jim. A rogue Sentinel in your territory, unbonded, seeking a Guide. It makes sense. That's why I had the same reaction to her. Most likely any Sentinel would have." 

"But Blair...she tried to..." Jim couldn't finish the sentence. 

"She's like a rabid animal. All she can do is destroy. She doesn't even have a true impulse toward self-preservation. That's why a real Sentinel would never kill a Guide. It's in every instinct, every last thing we are to protect the Guide. Because we can't survive without them. Sentinels are a breed apart. Only Guides can give us a link to the communities we're supposed to protect, to the world, to life itself." 

"Oh God!" Blair gasped, his face filling with compassion. "That's why they planted the idea in your head that you'd killed Sam, isn't it? To punish you. For resisting." 

She could not hold back the tears. "Yes." 

Jim made his voice low and gentle. "I'm so sorry. That must have been hell." 

The tears came harder. "Yes." 

And Jim suddenly understood something else. "That's when you got really agitated on the roof. When Dr. Smith or whoever that prick was brought up killing your husband. Fucking bastard! He knew what that would do. It was like some kind of fail-safe suggestion, if something went wrong and they got found out. The evidence would destroy itself." 

Elizabeth closed her eyes and nodded her head. "Yes." 

"Because the only thing more painful to a Sentinel than the Guide's death would be to have killed the Guide. That would be truly unendurable," Blair said. 

This time she could not even manage to speak. She had to settle for nodding her head. 

"I'm sorry to bring back all these memories, Elizabeth. But I have to ask. Can you remember anything about the place where they held you, anything that would help us find it?" 

She wiped away the tears, her shoulders still heaving. "Um...it's hard to remember. I woke up in this cinderblock room, no windows. A cage, basically. It seemed like a pretty big building. Like maybe a warehouse. And wait. I did see out a window once, when they took me to another part of the building. All I could see was countryside. Nothing around. I knew if I managed to escape I'd have to go pretty far to find help." 

"What kind of country was it? Forest? Water nearby?" 

She thought a long moment. "There was a field, kind of rocky. And I could see the mountains in the distance. And there was a line of trees. Evergreens." 

"Okay, that's great, Elizabeth. I know it's hard. But you did great." 

"You have to find her, Jim. We have to put an end to this," she said. 

"We will." 

She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes glittering. "It has to be a _final_ resolution." 

"Beth!" Sam gasped. "Do you know what you're suggesting?" 

"Yes, I do." 

"This is a legal matter, Beth. The police will handle this. In a legal fashion," Sam insisted. 

"You don't understand, Sam. I didn't understand either, not until just now. All this time, I've been using this ability in such a civilized way, but at its heart, it's not civilized. It has a code all its own, and it's the law of the wild. Animals won't allow a rabid one of their own kind into their territory. And they don't just chase it away either, because they know it has the sickness in it and will feel compelled to come back, at some point, sooner or later. There's only one choice if there's ever going to be anything like safety. It's a hard reality, but that's the way nature is. Ugly at times. Even brutal. All about survival." 

"But we're not animals, Elizabeth. For God's sake, you're a _doctor_. You swore a solemn oath to preserve life, and now you're talking like some kind of vigilante. And the police aren't just going to chase Alex out of Cascade. She's going to jail, the way she should. And it's not your place to take justice into your own hands," Sam said, his voice getting louder and angrier with each point. 

"But it is my place. This is so far outside the abilities of the criminal justice system to deal with, Sam. This is someone with super-human abilities who uses them to harm people. She's already murdered one person and indirectly caused the deaths of many more. Plus, she tried to kill a Guide. That's a crime against all Sentinels, and it has to be settled among Sentinels. Only we can stop her. Prison isn't safe enough. She could get released. I see it all the time. Dangerous people who manage to con the parole board. Or she could escape. She's certainly clever, _and_ she's a Sentinel. It's not beyond her. We can't take that chance. We can't allow a rogue Sentinel to exist. We just can't." 

"I know you've been though a lot, and I'm trying to understand. But I can't believe these words are coming out of your mouth. This is not the Elizabeth Knowlton I know." 

Elizabeth's hands shook, and there was the chill of fear in her voice. But she couldn't, wouldn't, back down. "I'm sorry, Sam. God, I don't want to lose you over this. But Sentinels are my tribe. Sentinels and their Guides. I _have_ to protect the tribe. It's not a choice. This _is_ what I am." 

He shook his head. "I need some time to deal with this." 

"I understand," she said softly. 

Sam left the room, and Blair got up. "I'll go talk to him." 

Elizabeth nodded, grateful. 

"You know I'm right, don't you?" she asked Jim. 

He stared past her, out the window, trying to sort out the conflict stirring inside him, the ancient Sentinel instincts at war with the modern man who'd sworn to uphold the law. "Yes," he finally agreed. 

"We can't leave anyone behind who knows about us. We can't leave any evidence. Nothing that might give someone else the same sick idea about how they can exploit Sentinels for some greedy purpose. It's the only way we'll be safe. All of us. You and Blair. Me and Sam. And all the rest of us." 

"I understand. We'll do whatever we have to. To protect our tribe." 

"I just hope my Guide can forgive me." 

"Me too." 

Blair found Sam in the kitchen, pacing around the table, agitated, muttering to himself. 

"Sam? Are you okay?" 

Sam stopped and turned to face him. "No. I'm not. I don't understand any of this. And I hate it." 

Blair put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, man. It's heavy stuff. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk? I'll put on some tea." 

Sam nodded, sinking onto a nearby chair, suddenly very tired. He put his head in his hands. "You don't know her, so you have know way of gauging how unlike her this really is. We're talking about a woman who won't let me kill a bug. Oh, she's terrified of them, don't make a mistake. But we have to carefully shoo them out a window or carry them outside, set them free. Because she hates killing. And now she's sitting in there calmly making plans to murder another human being in cold blood. What happened to my Beth, Blair? What did those bastards do to the woman I know? The woman I love. The woman I married." 

"All I can say is that I know from personal experience how going through an ordeal like this can change you. It takes a while to get back to your old life and your old self. And it's been less than three weeks for her. She's still your Beth. She just needs some time to remember what that means." 

Tears came to Sam's eyes. "I know. I try to remember that. And she's been very strong, very brave in dealing with all this. Like she always is. That's one of the things I've always loved about her. That's always made me so proud of her. She's the strongest, bravest person I know. Blair, I know this whole, horrible thing is bound to have affected her. My God, what they did to her. _I_ want to kill them for that. But this really is a whole side of her I've never seen before, and it scares me." 

"That's how I felt when Jim was freaking out the first time Alex came to town, only we didn't know what was causing it then. Unfortunately, we really let that get between us. And it was almost the end of us. I'd really hate to see that happen to you and Elizabeth." 

"My God, so would I, Blair. I love her. I'm committed to her. She's my wife, for God's sake. She's my Sentinel. Until this happened, I don't think I really understood exactly how important that is. I'm just not sure how to deal with it if this is what being a Sentinel means." 

"I'm not saying it's not tough, man. Really, really tough. It can definitely get ugly. Instinct is a powerful thing, and Elizabeth's right. It's not civilized. But you have to think about all the buttons they pushed in her. They've threatened what she considers to be her tribe. And worse than that, they threatened her Guide. All those sick, twisted images they put in her head of your being hurt...well, that's enough to send any Sentinel off the deep end. As far as Sentinels are concerned, you just don't fuck with the Guide. It's a biological imperative at the most deep and primitive level. So it's no wonder Elizabeth feels compelled to make Alex pay." 

"Beth has always listened to me before. She relies on my judgment. She might complain, but she always does what I think is right. Why not now?" 

Blair shook his head. "I don't know, man. There just may be times when a Sentinel's biological programming overrides the bond with the Guide. And maybe..." 

"What?" Sam asked, leaning forward. 

"You might not want to hear this." 

"Say it." 

"Maybe it's for a reason. Think about what Guides do for Sentinels. We provide a sort of moral compass, keep them on the straight and narrow, help them figure out how best to use their skills to accomplish the greatest good. Maybe there are some situations that are so extreme, so primal they fall outside the moral arena, and Sentinels stop listening to their Guides at those times. Because the guidance we'd give them would be all wrong." 

"Jesus, Blair, are you saying you think Beth's right?" 

"No. I feel the same way you do. And I know Jim agrees with Elizabeth. He just doesn't want to say so in front of me. And I'll have to sort out how I feel about that and how I'm going to deal with it. But I am willing to explore the possibility that in this case my sense of ethics may be out of touch with the realities of the situation." 

"I don't know. It just sounds too much like trying to rationalize something that's so obviously wrong." 

"I know, Sam. But maybe we just have to take a leap of faith here. We're always asking our Sentinels to trust us. Maybe this time we just have to trust them." 

"I hope to God I can do that, Blair." 

"Me too, Sam. Me too." 

Concluded in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into three parts.

## Tribe Sentinel

by Annabelle Leigh

Continued from part two. 

* * *

Tribe Sentinel - part three 

From the moment Blair found out that Alex Barnes was back, he knew it would have repercussions. He just never expected her to be such a strong presence in their bed while he and Jim made love. //She wanted to take Blair from me.// Jim's words from earlier in the day chilled him. He was always urging Jim to listen to his instincts. He needed to start taking his own advice. 

He had never wanted to touch her. Even when guiding her called for it, he didn't really want to, did it only grudgingly, a quick touch to her arm or the back of the head, to focus her. And that day in his office when she kissed him, he'd had the impulse to rub his face, to get it off. He should have known. With Jim, he'd never hesitated to touch. In fact, he'd felt compelled to put his hands on his partner, had been secretly glad for the excuse. It made such sense now. It was supposed to be a sexual connection. And Alex repelled him. And he should have known. 

He pushed away the disturbing thoughts, determined not to let them interfere with their loving. He turned his attention back to Jim and concentrated on what his lover was doing to him. Jim was everywhere at once--his hands running down Blair's arms, across his chest, lingering on his nipples, fluttering across his belly, raking the insides of his thighs, urging them apart. Jim's lips skimmed across Blair's shoulders, whispered against his ear, kissed the inside of his wrist, making Blair weak with want. Jim's tongue ran across Blair's lips, dipping and plunging inside, no gentle kiss, then licked a broad swath down his chest, across his stomach, doing things to his cock he'd never imagined Jim Ellison would begin to know how to do, things that felt so good. Jim loved him with his whole body, moving chest against chest, hip against hip, thigh against thigh. And then there were the teeth, the slight edge of them teasing a nipple, grazing Blair's lower lip, leaving a trail of bite marks down the curve of his neck, a bill board, a warning for anyone foolish enough to get too close. //My Guide. My Guide. My Guide.// 

This was not the same sweet loving from the night before. This had the shadow of an evil, Guide-stealing Sentinel hanging over it. Jim held Blair's hips with grim determination, as he moved his body against Blair's. Every glance, every touch had that same edge to it, the frantic urge to claim, mark, possess. There was something stark and primal in Jim's expression, the ancient Sentinel getting the better of the modern man. Blair could almost see the same conversation he'd been reliving now playing over his lover's face, along with the residual fear from three months ago. //She wanted to take you away from me.// And this was Jim's answer, his attempt to bind Blair to him in a way that could never be broken. 

"I want you," Jim said, his voice so rough with passion he almost didn't sound like the man Blair knew. 

Blair could only nod. The dark desire in his lover's eyes left him breathless. 

Getting permission unleashed something in Jim, the overpowering urge to take his Guide, take him hard, take him now. It gave Blair a whole new admiration for Sentinel protectiveness, understanding that it was only the powerful imperative to never hurt the Guide that kept Jim from slamming himself into Blair's unprepared body. 

Blair found himself smiling at that, an expression of wicked delight. The dark desire was catching, and he felt it stir inside him now, too. Jim Ellison--that stoic paragon of control--was at the far reaches of restraint and quickly passing beyond its borders. And Blair was the intoxicant propelling him into the undiscovered country outside the limits of reason. That pleased Blair in a greedy, lascivious place so deep inside himself that he could not help spreading his legs wider, to give his lover a better look, adjusting the angle of his hips, to give his Sentinel better access, goading Jim just a little, playing a dangerous, thrilling game. 

The look on Jim's face told him he understood exactly what Blair was doing, and he'd soon teach him a thing or two about teasing a Sentinel bent on mating, a Sentinel staking his claim, in the process of winning his territory. 

Blair gained a whole new appreciation for Sentinel willpower as Jim somehow found the strength to pull himself away, to get the tube of lube he'd bought at the drug store that afternoon just in case, tearing his eyes away from the sweet spot between Blair's legs, the place he wanted to fuck so badly. Blair gave Jim enormous credit for being able to stop long enough to get what he needed to avoid hurting him. 

Jim eased one slicked finger into Blair's body. And froze. //He didn't expect me to be a virgin.// Blair felt like laughing. It was suddenly all so clear to him, why he'd always kept this part of himself back. Even when he'd set out with the specific intention of getting fucked, somehow he'd always ended up directing the sex into other avenues, something, anything else. He'd never even let a woman touch him there. It's not that he'd gone around with the idea of his ass as some kind of prize or attached romantic notions to it, like he was waiting for Mr. Right. There had just been this lurking, wordless insistence that this would be significant sometime, that he would know the right moment when it came. And here it was. And he'd been right, so right, so glad to have waited. 

Blair knew Jim too well not to understand the battle he was fighting with himself, not to be able to read the conflicting emotions written all over his face. There was the practical, careful, reasonable Jim who knew it would be a far better idea to take his lover for the first time when he was sane enough to do it gently, outside the terrible heat of this moment. There was the Blessed Protector that insisted Blair must be kept safe, even from Jim himself. But there was also the panther, not a rational, thinking man, but an animal spirit, who knew only what it wanted, what it needed. And it would not be denied. 

And as much as Jim didn't want to hurt him, might not want to admit it even to himself, he was exulting in the knowledge that he would be the first, the last, the only. This sweet secret was his and his alone. And soon he would learn it, take it, reveal its mysteries, make it his own. That was an incredible aphrodisiac, and it had to be acted on. Now. 

Jim shook his head. "Have to. Have to do it. Have to take you. Make you mine." 

"Yes." That was the only answer Blair could possibly have given. The dark desire had a hold of him. It glinted and preened and grinned, in triumph and greed. Like the panther, it knew only what it wanted. It also would not be denied. 

Blair acquired an instant appreciation for something he never even knew existed: Sentinel patience. Jim took his time, teasing him, stroking him, opening him, lavishing careful attention on the entrance to his body, using his senses to judge, making Blair ready for him, making it good for Blair in the process. Blair felt a new respect for all the women he'd ever bedded. It was not an easy thing to allow yourself to be so open, so exposed, so vulnerable to another person. As Jim's fingers moved inside him, caressing him, stretching him, easing the way where his cock would soon follow, Blair understood at last what all the women and the few men he'd ever fucked had given him, how they'd allowed him _inside_ them, _inside_ , how they'd shared something that was so absolutely theirs with him. And he understood more than ever why this was the moment when he could finally do this, why he'd never been able to do it before. It was only with Jim that he could stand to be this vulnerable. 

Jim knelt between Blair's outstretched thighs, taking his own cock in his hand. "I have to do this. I have to have you. Tell me it's all right." 

Blair licked his lips, afraid, but also more turned on than he'd ever imagined possible. It was now or never. He nodded. "Do it. I want you to." 

He tried to let go of the fear, stay loose, breathe out, bear down as Jim entered him, whatever he could think of to make the penetration easier. He hoped it wouldn't hurt. It did. And more than that, it just felt weird, unnatural, intrusive, something inside his body that wasn't part of him. //Who ever thought _that_ up?// He closed his eyes tightly as he tried to adjust to the hot, urgent, spread-too-wide sensation shooting up his ass. Jim stilled, watching him with concern, stroking his hips, thighs, his flagging erection, murmuring sweet, broken phrases of affection, words of love and tenderness and comfort. For a moment, the panther was in retreat, and his considerate lover was in control, soothing him, ready to stop if it hurt too much. And the sensation began to shift, as he'd always heard it would. His body gave in to it, stopped feeling invaded, felt filled instead, complete in some strange way. It was still a thoroughly odd sensation, but now it bordered on pleasure. He pushed back against Jim, and that felt okay too. He nodded, and Jim began moving inside him again. And then it wasn't just okay. It was much, much better than that. It was still a hot, burning sensation, but the way pleasure can be hot and burning. And he began to move once more, meeting Jim, loving him back. 

He could almost hear what Jim was thinking. //Nobody takes my Guide. Mine. Mine. My Guide.// 

As he stroked Blair's cock in time to his thrusting, the magic words, the eternal rhythm unfolded. //Mine. Now and always. Mine. Now and always. Mine. Now and always.// Blair began to buck his hips more urgently, laying a claim of his own. //My Sentinel. Mine. Only mine.// 

And Jim's hands ran over Blair's hips and thighs with his answer. //Yours. Only yours. So good to be yours.// 

And Blair understood at last what this was, the profundity of it all. This was the raw sensual power that made the world go around. This was the possessed urge to fuck like there was no tomorrow. This was mating, at its most pure, its most primitive. This was too damn good, and he was coming, God, he was coming. And Jim was coming too. And they were both screaming and howling and shrieking and wailing, along with various other sounds loud enough to wake the dead. And there was a message in that raw, primal noise. //Ours. Together. Ours. Always and forever.// And even though it was desperate and cacophonous and way off key, it was still the music of the ages. 

After it was over and they'd disentangled their bodies, Jim lay with his head pressed against Blair's heart, listening to the beating gradually return to its normal rhythm. 

"Sorry. Had to. Had to do it. Sorry. So sorry," Jim repeated over and again. 

"Shhh. Shhh. Shhh," Blair soothed. 

"I'm sorry," Jim offered one last time. 

"I'm not," Blair said with finality. 

Jim lifted his head. "Just tell me I didn't hurt you too badly." 

Blair smiled and traced Jim's forehead, cheekbones, the bridge of his nose with his finger. "You didn't hurt me too badly." 

"Shit, Blair!" Jim said in a panic, pulling back, checking his lover for blood or other visible signs of damage. 

Blair burst out laughing. He wasn't sure why it seemed so hilarious. Maybe it was just the contrast between the demon that had fucked his brains out just a moment ago and his tender partner wracked by guilt over the possibility of having hurt him. 

"Damn it, Blair!" Jim said, his face pale and worried, very much unamused. 

"Relax, big guy. I'm just teasing you." 

"Don't, Blair. Not about this," he said and then his voice grew softer. "I don't know why I did it like that. Especially your first time. _Our_ first time _together_." 

"Because you needed it. We needed it. Hell, _I_ needed it." 

Jim searched his face. "You'd tell me if I'd really hurt you, wouldn't you?" 

Blair sighed. "Yes. And you didn't." He moved his ass gingerly. "It's just a little sore. I'll live. Although I might walk funny tomorrow." 

Jim couldn't help smiling at that, despite himself. In some slightly twisted, deeply possessive part of his soul, it pleased him. 

Blair glared at him dramatically. "God, Jim. Gloat a little, why don't you?" 

Jim's smile just got larger. 

Blair elbowed him, then went for the big guns: tickling. Now it was his turn to gloat, as Jim writhed beneath him, whimpering, pleading, laughing, trying to get away. Blair smiled. He could always count on Sentinel sensitivity. 

Blair straddled his partner's hips, staring down at him. "Payback's a bitch, man." 

Jim's eyes grew wide. 

"Oh yes, my friend," Blair said. 

Jim wiggled his hips suggestively against his lover, communicating his willingness. 

"Geez, man. Give me a break. I want you, but sometime when my ass isn't too sore to move. Patience, baby. I want to give you my best, just the way you did me." 

"I might not live." 

Blair grinned. "You're going to have to toughen up, Sentinel." 

"Bring it on, Shaman." 

"Oh, I plan to, Jim. I definitely plan to." 

Jim rested his hands on Blair's waist, caressing his hips, growing suddenly serious. "Do you know how much I love you?" 

Blair leaned down to kiss him. "Yes. Just as much as I love you." 

* * *

Jim didn't know why he had such a thing about slamming people into walls. Sometimes he got high on frustration and low on tolerance. Sometimes he just needed to _do_ something about a situation, and banging a bad guy into a nearby wall...well, that was something. But then there were those occasions when a person was just such crud- sucking scum that they really and truly deserved it, when it was really the only appropriate response. 

Such was the case with Officer Ramsey. Jim took him by the front of the shirt and propelled him back against the wall. He hit it with a loud "oof," getting the wind knocked out of him. 

//That was for Blair, for selling out to the bitch who almost killed him. And you're damned lucky he'd already left that morning, or we wouldn't be having this civilized conversation.// 

"Let's try this again, Ramsey. Where is Alex Barnes hiding? And who is the mysterious doctor from the roof?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Detective." Ramsey was trying to sound matter-of-fact, putting on his best innocent face. But Jim could hear his fluttering pulse, giving away every one of his lies. 

He grabbed Ramsey's collar and pounded him against the opposite wall. //That was for nearly getting Sam killed, someone who it was your sworn duty to defend and protect, you fucking sell-out bastard.// 

Jim got in his face, mere inches away, looking Ramsey dangerously in the eye. Ramsey was trying not to seem intimidated, but everyone around the station knew Ellison's reputation. And Captain Banks seemed to have given him carte blanche do whatever he wanted. And shit! Ramsey hated to think what that meant. 

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. We found a ten thousand dollar deposit to your checking account two days after the doctor gave us the slip on the roof. And you were on the security detail for Dr. Knowlton and Mr. Crawford, so of course you knew the location of the safe house. Plus, you just happened to be on duty at the time of the attack, handily out back where it was safe. And somehow you managed not to hear a thing as the whole place was torn apart by gunfire. At least, not until it was over, and you took out the perp before he could roll over on you," Jim said, every word slow and level and carefully articulated, the very soul of menace. 

Ramsey's blood ran cold. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "You got it all wrong, Detective. I swear. God, you think I'd do something like that? No way, Detective. God as my witness." 

Jim pulled him forward and pushed him back against the wall, forcefully, banging his head this time. //That was for Elizabeth, for ratting her out to the people who'd already put her through hell. And for making her walk past a dead body yesterday when it could so easily have been her or her husband lying there.// 

"Ramsey, I'm not a patient man. Pretty much everyone around here knows that. And I can't tell you how fed up I am with you right now. And even though I'm not particularly religious, I have to tell you that I really don't like it when liars call on God. So if I were you, I'd start talking. And I'd make it the truth this time." 

Jim tightened his grip on Ramsey's collar, not enough to cut off the flow of air completely, maybe just turn him blue a little. He could hear Ramsey's vital signs go off the chart, the strong smell of fear coming off him in waves. //And that one's for me. Just because I _hate_ dirty cops.// 

"Okay, okay, Detective. I did it. Okay? Let go now. I can't breathe," Ramsey gasped, trying to pull away. 

Jim let him go with a final shove. "Where are they?" 

Ramsey shook his head. "I don't know. I swear. It was all done over the phone. We did a drop with the money at Memorial Park. I never saw where they were hiding out." 

"Who'd you deal with?" 

"The doctor. From the roof. He never gave me any name other than Dr. Smith." 

"You were in on it from the beginning?" 

The cop shook his head. "I really did just get distracted up on the roof. But the next day I got a call from him. I'm into some dangerous people for a bunch of money. Gambling debts. The Jags had a really shitty season. And the doctor knew all about it and said he had a way out of it for me. All I had to do was give up the information and then look the other way." 

"While two civilians and God knows how many of your fellow officers were gunned down," Jim said with disgust. 

"Yeah, well. I didn't owe them people nothing, the doctor and her husband. And no cops were supposed to get hurt. That's what the guy promised. Besides, the people I'm into would have killed me without a second thought, just to send a message to other guys that can't pay. I had to look out for myself." 

Jim fought the urge to pound him into the wall again. "And got a good cop killed in the process. Was shooting the wounded perp part of the deal?" 

Ramsey nodded. "The doctor said for nothing to be left at the scene that could be traced back. I knew what that meant." 

"Ramsey, you are the sort of no account cop that truly disgraces the uniform." 

"Yeah, well, fuck you, Detective." 

It took a supreme act of will to leave him standing, but Jim managed it, calling in the officers waiting outside to book him. 

Simon came out of the observation room. "Well, we got Ramsey, but not the location of the warehouse. Was he telling the truth, Jim?" 

Jim rubbed his eyes, the tension of the past few days beginning to catch up to him. "Afraid so, Simon. He doesn't know where it is." Jim pounded his fist on his desk. "Damn it! That was our best lead." 

"Take it easy, Jim. We'll find her." 

"We damn well better, Simon. We damn well better. And very, very soon." 

* * *

It felt like being hit by a truck. Over and again. The horrible, unspeakable sensations kept slamming into her body, without mercy, without respite. Elizabeth lay curled in the big chair, her fetal position doing little to comfort her, as the waves of emotions and memories from the past month came rushing over her. This was true remembering, the circumstances and the feelings attached to them in one package. And it was every circle of hell all at once. 

Her skin was like ice, and she thought she might throw up. Her senses were alive with all the repressed sensory input of the past month, distorted, out of control, gothic in their proportions. It made her head a screaming mad house, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

When she'd woken up in the horrible cage they'd kept her in, every nerve ending she had felt like it was on fire. Her whole body was an unbearable inferno. Drugs always wreaked havoc on her senses. She hesitated to take so much as an Advil unless it was absolutely necessary, and whatever they'd shot her up with made her want to claw her skin off, to break her body apart, anything to stop that horrible fiery sensation. 

And now the burning was back, the memory too real, an actual physical sensation in her body. She struggled desperately to control it, to turn it down, make it bearable, but it didn't respond to any of the techniques Sam had taught her. And before she could even begin to adjust to it, she was broadsided by a wave of panic, more memory, the sick, chill feeling like a claw in her gut, her chest heaving, unable to draw a breath, her whole body shaking with remembered terror. //Oh God.// This was the way she felt every time they came to her cell, to drag her down the long corridor to the other place, the bad room, where horrible things happened to her. Going into that room was like losing herself. After they'd finished with her in there, she was reduced to something less than human, drooling, non-verbal, so awash in pain she didn't even know who she was, the self so fractured it was like a crystal vase shattered on a cement floor. 

And then there was the omnipresent rage. She could still taste it, sharp and metallic in her mouth, just the way it had been that long, horrific month. Her mind had constantly hurt, her body always aching, but somehow her Sentinel spirit clung to its rebellion. Now matter how heavy and drugged her body felt, how wounded her consciousness, the warrior part of her plotted their deaths, saw them eviscerated and defeated at her hands, took immense pleasure in their imagined suffering. It was like a caged beast, wanting to lunge at their throats, kept back by the iron bars of drugs and restraints, venting its frustration, an insane roar in her head that never stopped. 

Elizabeth closed her eyes tighter, tried to make herself smaller, clung to the arm of the big chair like it was a life preserver. The world tilted and trembled, everything askew, like there was nowhere solid to stand. She couldn't grab hold. Her memory was a slippery slope, and no matter how she scrabbled and clawed, she couldn't pull herself clear. There were still terrible things, predatory animals with glowing eyes, lurking in the darkness below her consciousness, waiting to pounce. //No!// She resisted. She threw up her will like a brick wall, trying to keep the excruciating memories at bay. They circled and danced around her, coming ever closer, just outside her field of vision. But there, just the same. 

//Dr. Knowlton!// The memory tapped her on the shoulder and then moved out of reach again, playing with her. 

//Help me!// Her heart raced. 

The blackness closed over her head, like the deep, dangerous waters. She was being dragged down the corridor back to her cell. She was shattered, coming apart at the seams, the molecular bonds of her being critically weakened. Soon she would be just so much stellar dust. There was a dragging sound and something passing nearby. But there was nothing left of her, and it was so hard to look. 

//Dr. Knowlton! Help me!// And then her eyes had met his. And even though she was stellar dust, some dim part of her brain registered it. He was familiar. She knew him. 

Elizabeth sat bolt upright. "SAM!" She screamed for her husband at the top of her lungs. "BLAIR! SAM!" She screamed with the desperate, outraged, earth-shattering voice of a Sentinel whose tribe is in chains. 

* * *

//Well, at least we finally know something.// Jim stared at the rap sheet that was far longer than his arm. The prints from the dead perp had turned up a record. No big surprise. Carl Wilkins had been a very bad boy, for a very long time, everything from petty theft to aggravated assault, a jagged history of criminal behavior since he was eighteen years old. And probably before that, but the juvenile record had been expunged. One of the charges that had been dropped caught Jim's eye: gun smuggling. Apparently, the DA in New York City hadn't had enough evidence to make it stick. //Must have been Alex's partner. Makes sense that she'd have someone to help her plan the jobs and then sell the merchandise.// 

And she'd just abandoned him there at the house yesterday, doubled over in agony, while she made her getaway. She must have known Ramsey would come in and clean up the mess.//Well, like they say, there's no honor among thieves.// 

"Jim!" Megan called excitedly, as she rushed into the bullpen. "We finally got a break on this thing. We found a truck driver who gave Dr. Knowlton a ride into the city. He picked her up on Route 12, several miles outside of town, near the turn off for the national forest." 

"Elizabeth said it was out in the countryside somewhere and that she could see a line of trees and mountains in the distance. That fits. Good work, Conner." 

Megan smiled. Praise from Jim Ellison was a rarity. "How do you want to proceed?" 

"Let's go over maps of the area. Elizabeth said it was large, like a warehouse. It's pretty rural out there. There can't be that many industrial buildings in the vicinity." 

"I'm on it," she said. 

"Hey, Jim," Henri called from his desk. "Come take a look at this. This is what we got back on our Dr. Smith." 

Jim joined him and took the printout. "Dr. Robert Graves. So our guy really is a doctor. A psychiatrist. Lost his license for malpractice. He did two years in San Quentin too. For insurance fraud and assault. Got paroled last year. Oh, shit!" 

"What?" Henri asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"He was paroled against the advice of the examining psychiatrist, Dr. Elizabeth Knowlton." 

"That's why he picked her?" 

"It's at least how he knew her. Hey H., do me a favor and call the California AMA. See if you can get details about what got him kicked out." 

"You got it," Henri said, reaching for the phone. 

Jim's cell phone rang. "Ellison." 

"Jim, it's Blair. We have a serious problem." 

"This isn't the best time, Chief. We're finally getting some breaks in the case." 

"That's great. Even better than you know actually. Listen, Jim, Elizabeth has been remembering more details, and there's a pretty good chance they have other Sentinels. She's pretty sure she saw one of her former patients there. She thinks Alex must have found her notes about the other Sentinels and the key to their identities that she had hidden in a separate place in her office. And used that information to go after them." 

"What??!!" 

"Don't freak, big guy. From what she can remember, they seem to at least still be alive. But we really need to get them out of there. Quickly." 

"We're on it, Chief. As soon as we have the location pinned down, we'll move on it." 

"Jim, hold on. Elizabeth wants to talk to you." 

"Jim?" Her voice was a distant ghost of itself. "I can help you. Blair said you've narrowed down the area. Take me out there. I know I'll remember." 

Jim shook his head at the phone. "No," he told her firmly. "We're very close to figuring it out without getting you involved. We'll handle it, Elizabeth. We'll get them out of there alive, I promise." 

"I need to come with you, Jim. They've been severely traumatized. They're my patients. They'll respond to me. And I...it's my fault this happened to them. I need to be there." 

Jim hesitated. As a Sentinel, he understood all too well. As a cop, he knew it was the worst idea going. "I'll check it out with my captain. I can't promise anything." 

"Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it." 

"Put Blair back on." 

"Hey, Jim." 

"I need you to keep an eye on them for me, Chief. Don't let them do anything stupid." 

"Got ya, big guy. Be careful, huh?" 

"Always." 

"I love you," Blair said. 

"Me too," he said and hung up. 

"Jim," Megan called from her desk. "I think we've got it." 

He looked at the map over her shoulder. 

"There's pretty much nothing out here that fits the bill. _Except_ this old grain warehouse. From what I can tell on the map, it's completely isolated, the perfect place to hold people against their will. Plus, it borders on the national forest. And it's only a little over a mile away from where the trucker said he picked up the doctor." 

"That's gotta be it," Jim said. "Good work, Conner." 

//Twice in one day.// Megan had to smile. 

"Jim," Henri said, joining them at Megan's desk. "I couldn't get anything out of the people at the AMA. According to them, it's confidential unless we've got a court order. But I also found out that there were several civil suits filed against Dr. Graves. I called a couple of the plaintiffs, and they were more than happy to tell me all about it. Apparently, they went to him for hypnosis to help them quit smoking, and he used drugs and brainwashing techniques to get them to steal for him. It was only discovered after one of his patients was caught taking money from the store where she worked and went into a kind of trance. At the hospital, they found psychiatric drugs in her system, and eventually it all lead back to Dr. Graves." 

"What a sick bastard," Jim said. 

"You said it," Megan agreed. 

"Let's go brief the Captain," Jim said. 

They laid out what they had learned for Simon. 

"Good work, people. At least this time Alex Barnes isn't going to get away with it." 

"There is one complication, sir," Jim said. 

Simon looked as if just the thought of a complication was enough to give him a headache. 

"Dr. Knowlton remembers other people being held there. We think it's highly probable there are other victims." 

Simon shot him a look, asking the one question he couldn't pose in front of the others. 

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid so," Jim answered. 

"Well, that does complicate things. We'll need surprise on our side. We don't want it turning into a hostage situation." 

The three of them nodded. 

"We need an airtight plan. We don't want any unnecessary bloodshed. But let's get those people out of there." 

"You got it, Simon," Jim said, following Henri and Megan out of the office, his jaw set in grim determination. 

* * *

Jim crouched in the weeds, outside the back entrance to the warehouse. He shifted, gun in hand, adjusting the straps on his kevlar vest. The place was surrounded by cops, armed to the teeth, poised to storm every door, every window, every conceivable way into the building. It was a risky operation. They couldn't take the chance of Alex hearing their radio communications, so they were running silent, having made the excuse to their fellow officers that they suspected some kind of sophisticated security measures that would detect their transmissions. 

Everyone was in place now, and they were all just waiting for the sign from Simon to move in. Jim scanned the building with his hearing. There were definitely multiple heartbeats, but the size and emptiness caused a strange echo effect. So it was impossible to tell exactly how many people were inside or pinpoint where they were. 

Megan knelt beside him, at the ready. The sign finally came around, and Jim nodded to Megan. They both moved forward. She trained her gun, while Jim kicked in the back entrance, and then they both raced inside. 

It sounded and looked like bedlam. Jim had to turn down his hearing as far as he dared without his Guide there to keep him from zoning. Glass exploded everywhere, as teams of cops went in through the windows. There was the sound of wood straining and splintering as all the doors went crashing in and wave after wave of officers swarmed inside. The air was filled with the dull roar of voices screaming for everyone to get down, freeze, identifying themselves as police officers. 

The teams quickly swept through the building, searching every room, every broom closet, every nook and cranny--looking for victims, evidence and especially the suspects. Jim and Megan worked as a team. He took point, and she had his back. He kicked in a locked door, splintering the doorframe. Inside, there was a chair with restraints, a tray of evil-looking syringes, drugs locked in a cabinet. The hair prickled along the back of Jim's neck, and he went immediately cold all over his body. He knew without any doubt that this was the torture chamber Elizabeth had described. He swore he could feel the suffering of all the Sentinels who had been tormented here, as if their pain had sunk into the walls and floor, the paint and wood, leaving behind an indelible imprint of the nightmares endured here. 

Megan tugged on his sleeve, a quizzical look on her face, and that pulled him back inside himself. He nodded, and they continued down the corridor, opening doors, busting them down when necessary, checking inside. Near the end of the long hall, they found their first kidnapped Sentinel, filthy, wild-eyed, shaking with cold, terrified, shackled like an animal to the cinderblock wall. The man was too disoriented to speak, but he made cowering motions, as if trying to beg them not to hurt him. 

Jim knelt beside the man and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. We're cops. You're safe now." 

At first the man tried desperately to move away, straining against the chains that held him in place, but as Jim continued talking to him in a low, soothing, gentle voice, understanding began to penetrate the fog. 

The man grabbed Jim's hand. "T'ank Gawd. T'ank Gawd. T'ank Gawd," he managed to say through cracked lips, as tears began running down his cheeks. 

"Let's get the bolt cutter in here," Jim called to his fellow officers. "We need to get this man loose and out to an ambulance." 

Megan and Jim left the shaken Sentinel in the care of a pair of uniformed cops, who took over soothing him and worked on getting the chains off. 

Jim heard a vague rattle off to the right and zeroed in on it, trying to filter out all the noise coming from the other teams of cops. He gestured to Megan to move in that direction, and she nodded back at him, inching forward, gun drawn, on full alert. He heard a different sound this time, like metal scraping against metal, something familiar. He tensed, gun in hand, as he tried to place the sound, as he worked on pinpointing the location. It was kind of a sliding, like something being pulled back. //The bolt action on a semiautomatic rifle.// And then he could hear air currents, like a trigger being pulled. In the split second it took him to react, he pushed Megan down, returned fire in the direction the sound had come from and fell to the ground himself. A hail of bullets passed over their heads, imbedding themselves in the wall behind them. Jim could hear the dull thud of a body as it hit the ground. A lifeless body. //Thank God for Sentinel shooting.// He helped Megan up to her feet, and they went in search of the perp. They found Dr. Smith, or Dr. Graves rather, crumpled on the ground, eyes wide and staring, a neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. 

She whistled softly. "Nice work, Jimbo. Nice work." 

"I try," he said. 

"Get back!" a loud, eerily recognizable voice screamed from another part of the building. 

"This way," Jim said to Megan. 

They ran further into the heart of the building. Jim heard the commotion coming from above them and led Megan up a flight of stairs to a half floor on the second level. He grabbed Megan's arm and pulled her to the side, gesturing for her to stay quiet. At the other end of the room, Alex was engaged in a standoff with a half dozen cops. She had her back to the wall but was using one of the Sentinels as a shield, holding a gun to his head. If they tried to take her out, she would make sure her hostage went along with her, a boy of no more than nineteen or twenty, in the same bad shape as the man they'd found earlier, completely terrified. 

"I need a diversion," Jim whispered to Megan. 

She nodded and moved off the other side. There was a metal bucket and Megan kicked it, causing a loud, clatter. "Sorry, guys. It's just me," she said quickly, so her fellow officers wouldn't mistake her for another perp. 

That distracted Alex just long enough for Jim to act. He closed one eye and targeted her gun hand with his Sentinel sight. He squeezed the trigger, and Alex screamed, instantly dropping the gun, her hand spurting blood. 

"Move in. Move in. Move in," Jim screamed to the other cops. 

But Alex proved she was nothing if not a formidable adversary. She pushed the young Sentinel forward, into the line of fire, so the CPD officers couldn't get off a shot without the risk of wounding him. And in the blink of an eye, she was gone, crashing through a second story window, jumping down to the roof of an extension below and then shimmying down a drainpipe, taking off into the woods once she hit the ground. 

"Get the other victims out of here. Call for backup," Jim instructed Megan before jumping out the window after Alex, following the same route she had taken to the ground. 

His nostrils flared. He could smell her, the sharp scent of adrenaline, the slight whiff of fear. He headed in the same direction, using all his senses to track her. It was if he was moving in time to some primitive music, pushing him along, an ever accelerating rhythm that fueled the chase. //Protect the tribe. Protect the tribe. Protect the tribe.// He felt himself merging with the tribal chant, moving outside himself, or perhaps deeper within himself, a kind of primal zone out, the ancient watchman unleashed and on the prowl. 

* * *

Elizabeth had agreed to stay in the car, the only way Captain Banks would allow her to come along. She tried to stay in the car. She wanted to keep her word. She _believed_ in staying in the car. Really. But she couldn't stay in the car. She _couldn't_. It was no longer a matter of personal will. Every cell in her body, every fiber of her being, every ounce of instinct commanded her: //Out! Out! Get out of the car!// 

So she got out of the car. 

Sam scrabbled across the seat, following her. "What are you doing, Beth? Where do you think you're going?" 

"Claustrophobic. Couldn't stand it in there one more minute." 

Blair got out of the car too. "We still need to stay put." 

Elizabeth nodded. She understood. She knew perfectly well the gravity of the situation. The danger. She saw the reason in hanging back. Yes, staying put was just exactly the most sensible thing to do. Let the professionals handle it. That was definitely the wisest course. Sit back. Wait for it to all be over. Wait until the coast was clear and her skills as a doctor were needed. That's just exactly what she should do. 

Should do, definitely. And if this were a time governed by reason, it was absolutely what she would have done. But it wasn't, and she couldn't. Couldn't manage it. Couldn't stand it. Couldn't wait. Couldn't fight her most powerful nature, which was not as a wife or doctor or civilian, but as a Sentinel, with her finely honed hunter's instinct and the imperative to protect. 

She began to pace. Her senses were going off scale. Her nose trembled with the scents assaulting her. She felt certain she could hear the very molecules colliding in the air. And then the bad feeling was back, shooting through her body with the speed and fury of electrocution. 

Alex. 

Her mind flashed on the dream, the jungle, the prey, the pursuit. And then she was running, just as she had been in the dream. Her rational mind had clicked off, and the primitive, reptilian part of her brain was in control, the domain of instinct and reaction. She was running and tracking and chasing, using her senses to find Alex, intercept her, take her down, because Elizabeth was a Sentinel and this was what Sentinels did. 

"Beth! Beth! No!" Sam screamed at his wife and would have run after her if Blair hadn't grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. 

"Let go of me, Blair! I have to go after her! Blair! Damn it!" 

"No, man, no. Let her go. You can't help this time." 

"But you saw her, Blair. My God, her eyes. They were so...vacant. She doesn't know what she's doing. Hell, I don't half think she knows who she is." 

"She knows exactly who she is. She's a Sentinel." 

"Well, fuck that! Fuck this whole Sentinel bullshit. She's my wife, Blair. I _have_ to go after her." 

"Jim's out there too. He'll help her. Together, they'll take care of it." 

"They need us." 

Blair shook his head, feeling strangely sure. "No. This is the one time they _don't_ need us. I guess there are just some instances when Guides have to hang back. I don't know. I don't pretend to understand it. But I'm very, very certain. This is between Sentinels." 

"You just don't want me to see what she's going to do," Sam accused. 

Blair rubbed his temples, feeling suddenly very tired. "Maybe. And maybe _I_ don't want to see what they're going to do. 

The terrain was rough, uneven ground that could easily trip her, sudden outcroppings of rock to avoid, and a craggy incline just to her left which would send her plummeting with only one misstep. But there was primitive power in her. She maneuvered over and around the obstacles like she had been born to this place, like she ruled it. The dream and the reality merged into one. The forest was deep and dark like the jungle. The low branches of trees lashed her as she passed. And she had the mark on her, not paint, but purpose, the ancient Sentinel coming to life, filling her with overwhelming urgency and determination. 

The personal self dissolved. There was no hurt or fear or anger anymore. There was no memory of the horrific month just past. It was all a matter of brutal logic, nature's mandate: the threat must be met, the Sentinel must protect, the tribe must survive. 

Her primitive brain registered both of the other Sentinels. The enemy had doubled back, was coming straight towards her now, heading in the direction of the Guides. And there was the coppery smell of blood. One of them was injured, although she couldn't tell which. Adrenaline poured into Elizabeth's body, and she ran faster, grew more grimly determined. //Protect the Guides. Protect the tribe. Protect the Guides. Protect the tribe.// Not far behind the enemy she could sense Jim, fellow tribesman, ally. He, too, seemed to have the primal Sentinel spirit in him, and he was gaining on Alex, closing in. 

Elizabeth came to a clearing in the trees, just as Alex appeared on the other side. The enemy whipped her head around wildly, almost reversing course, about to head back the way she'd come when she realized that Jim was too close, cutting off her escape route. 

Alex turned back to face her and laughed. It was the most unnerving sound Elizabeth had ever heard, setting her on edge like a hundred sets of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard, filled with all the insanity of a malformed Sentinel who did not recognize her true purpose in life. 

"You know, I should have just killed you the way Graves wanted," Alex said. "He hired me to get rid of you, so you wouldn't stand in the way of his parole. But the dim-wits on the parole board didn't listen to you anyway, so it wasn't necessary. And I'd realized what you were by then and saw an opportunity. Now it seems he was right. I should have just disposed of you in the first place. You were never very cooperative. None of you were. But at least now I'll get the chance to finish what I started." 

Alex was taller and stronger than she was and much more experienced in fighting. And she was hurt, and that always made a rabid animal more dangerous. But the vestigial Sentinel knowledge was stirring in Elizabeth's cells, dormant synapses firing, long buried wisdom coming to the fore. //Always use the opponent's force against them.// Elizabeth moved to her left, positioning herself strategically. 

Jim closed the gap and came into the clearing, trapping Alex between them. He pointed his gun at her. "Give it up, Barnes." 

Alex snorted. "I don't think so, Ellison. I'm not stupid. I tried to kill your little friend. There's no way you'll let me live. And I'm not going down without a fight." 

Rabid animals always had surprises up their sleeves, and Alex was no exception. Like a flash of lightning, she grabbed a nearby fallen limb with her good hand and used it with martial arts effectiveness to knock Jim's legs out from under him, sending the gun flying into the underbrush. 

"Now, it's a more level playing field," the maniac Sentinel said, laughing and gloating. 

Jim picked himself up. "You still have to get by one of us." 

This was true. So Alex did what rabid animals always do when cornered--she lunged, going for the weaker adversary. But the wild instinct had served Elizabeth well and was still inside her. It pushed her to the side, urging her to kick out her legs, to catch Alex's knees, sending her flying. And as Alex went plunging over the side of the ravine, she spread her arms, her face twisting in lunatic determination, as if she would take flight, just to thwart them, just to win. But rabid animals only _think_ they're exempt from the laws of nature. And gravity did its job, efficiently, dispassionately, as always. //What goes up must come down.// And Alex was no exception. In the exaggerated slow motion of the moment, Elizabeth and Jim could see her face as she realized it, the demented disbelief, the impotent rage, before she plunged back to earth, her body breaking on the rocks at the bottom of the steep gully. 

And just as in her dream, there was no emotion in Elizabeth, no anger, no sense of vengeance, perhaps only a hint of relief, and the incontrovertible knowledge that this was simply what had to be, nature righting itself, ridding itself of a dangerous aberration. And she could see in Jim's expression that it was the same with him. And they both realized that it had never been up to them to pass judgment on Alex. That had come from a higher authority. They were simply its agents. 

Jim fished his gun out from the tall grasses and nodded his head in the direction of the warehouse. Elizabeth fell in beside him, and they headed back to the crime scene, back to their Guides, to finish their work, rescuing their tribe. 

* * *

Simon was trying to help the man, one of the Sentinels, but he couldn't convince him to get into the ambulance. The man's whole body went slack, becoming dead weight, passively resisting, sitting down right where he was, in the dirt, in the middle of the road. 

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God," the man sobbed, tearing at his salt-and-pepper hair. "I killed Tasha. I didn't mean to. I don't know how it happened. Oh God, but I've got her blood on my hands. See? And it won't come off. It never comes off. Because I killed her. Oh God, I killed her." 

Elizabeth and Jim cleared the woods, picking up their pace when they saw the commotion. Simon couldn't believe how relieved he was. //I may have been on the force for twenty years, but none of it has helped me handle Sentinels freaking out about their Guides.// 

Elizabeth ran up to her former patient, dropping to her knees beside him, taking his hand in hers. "No, Mark. You didn't hurt Tasha. I promise. She's alive and well. You'll see her soon." 

"Dr. Knowlton?" he asked, sounding unsure, still very disoriented. 

"Yes, Mark. It's me. And you're safe now. Everything you remember about hurting Tasha is a false memory implanted in your subconscious. None of it ever happened. I swear, Mark. None of it." 

Mark frowned, trying to take it all in. "Not true? Tasha's not...she's not...you mean, I didn't..." 

Elizabeth put her arm around the trembling man, trying to comfort him. "That's right, Mark. Tasha's just fine. You didn't do anything wrong. Everything's going to be all right now. We just want to get you to the hospital, so we can get the drugs out of your system. That's what's confusing you. So you need to let us help you. Okay? I promise nobody's going to hurt you. Take my hand, and we'll get you into the ambulance." 

"Will you go with me?" he asked, still scared. 

"Of course. When we get there, I'll call Tasha, although I have the feeling she's probably already on her way. Can you make it, Mark? Let me help you." 

Elizabeth helped the disoriented Sentinel to his feet and began leading him toward the ambulance. 

"I could have sworn I saw you in there, Dr. Knowlton, in the bad place. I thought they had you too." 

"Let's get you settled now," she said, easing him onto a gurney, holding his hand until the EMTs lifted him into the back of the ambulance. When he was better, she would tell him the whole story. She would tell them all. They had a right to know. But for the moment, she wanted to help them put the terror behind them, to realize they were safe at last. 

"Beth?" She heard a voice call from behind her. 

"Sam." 

"Oh God, Beth," he said, taking her into his arms, hugging her with all his strength. "Thank God you're all right." 

She hugged him back, as hard as she could, so relieved to be with her Guide once more. It was her fervent hope never to be separated from him again. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm really sorry. But I just had to. Couldn't help it. Had to." 

"I know," he said, stroking her hair. 

"I didn't kill her. She made a move at me and went over an embankment. That's how she died. I swear." 

"I believe you," he murmured against her ear. "I trust you to do what's right. I always have. It just took me a little while to realize it." 

"Thank you," she said softly. 

He pulled back. "It looks like you have more patients to take care of," he said, gesturing toward the warehouse entrance where the police were bringing out another Sentinel, a tall, dark-skinned woman with close cropped hair. 

"Dr. Knowlton! Dr. Knowlton!" the woman called to her frantically. 

Elizabeth moved quickly to her side. "It's all right, Sarita. Sssh. Everything's going to be okay now." 

Sarita thrashed her head wildly from side to side. "No! You don't understand. Oh God, I did something so horrible, Dr. Knowlton. I don't know how I could have. I...I killed..." 

Sarita dissolved into tears, and Elizabeth hugged her. "No, you didn't, Sarita. You didn't hurt Abby. She's just fine, and I'm sure on her way to Cascade, even as we speak. We'll have you reunited in a matter of no time. I promise." 

Jim stood off to the side, watching as Elizabeth comforted each of the Sentinels in turn, as they were escorted from the building. They were all tremendously relieved to see a familiar face, someone they trusted, someone who had helped them in the past. Once she got them to understand they hadn't killed their Guides, that their Guides were just fine, they all visibly calmed down and allowed the EMTs to attend to them. As he watched his fellow Sentinels, Jim held Blair close to him, an arm across his shoulders, not caring who might see or what they might think. It had been the kind of day that put things into perspective. Holding tight to his Guide was the only important thing. 

"It's okay, big guy," Blair said in the soothing voice. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Jim could only nod. There was too much emotion in his throat to speak--a knot of sorrow and relief and longing. He pulled Blair even closer. 

"There's something I have to do, Chief." 

"I know." 

"It's not exactly..." 

"Legal?" 

Jim nodded, unable to meet his eyes. 

"But it is the _right_ thing to do, isn't it, Jim?" 

"Yes." 

"And you promised Elizabeth?" 

Jim nodded. 

"I'll go with you," Blair said. 

"Chief--" Jim started to protest, but Blair held up his hand. 

"We're in this together," he insisted. 

Jim nodded again. When Blair was right, he was right. 

They found what they were looking for in a small office at the rear of the cavernous building. Dr. Graves may have been twisted, but he was also a trained scientist. He kept impeccable records, both paper files and on the computer, a detailed history, written in the most clinical language imaginable, of all the truly horrific things he'd done to the kidnapped Sentinels. 

Blair leafed through the file folders. "It's amazing, Jim. No matter how extreme or violent or intensive the brainwashing was, none of the Sentinels could be conditioned. That's a super human level of resistance. It's nearly unimaginable that they could all fight it like that." 

"What do you think, Chief? That Sentinels just can't be turned bad?" 

Blair frowned, thinking it over. "Maybe it's a testament to the power of biology. I mean, Graves wasn't just trying to get them to go against a system of ethics they'd learned, but to fly in the face of instinct, to do the exact opposite of what's programmed into every cell, the accumulation of thousands of years of evolution. That's no easy task." 

"So I guess Alex truly was an aberration." 

Blair nodded. "So it seems." And then he gasped. 

"What?" 

Blair looked up from the page he was reading. "It seems when faced with overwhelming odds the Sentinels all chose to..." 

Jim's expression urged him on. But Blair hesitated to say it, knowing it would upset his lover. 

"What, Blair?" Jim asked again, more insistently. 

"Well, apparently rather than allow themselves to be used to harm other people, the Sentinels opted instead...there were numerous attempts and..." 

The pain in Jim's eyes, almost stopped him, but he knew his partner would demand to know it all. 

"Two of them were successful. I'm sorry, Jim. Two of the Sentinels managed to kill themselves. They were breaking down. Couldn't fight it anymore. I guess it was pretty much the only option they felt they had left." 

Grief slammed into Jim like a runway train, hitting him in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him, almost causing him to double over in pain. Blair was quickly by his side, supporting him, rubbing his back, murmuring reassurances in his ear. 

"I'm so sorry, man. Oh Jim. God, I'm sorry. Are you still with me, big guy? Man, don't zone on me." 

"I'm still here, Blair," he managed to say. 

Blair navigated him to a chair. "That's good, Jim. Breathe. Take it easy, big guy. You'll be all right." 

Jim shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes for the fallen Sentinels, his kinsmen, even though he'd never met them, not that it mattered. This was much larger than any personal connection. The tribe had been diminished, and he was diminished in some way, as well. 

He took another deep breath, pushed his feelings aside, leaving them to deal with later, when his work here was finished, when he was at home, secure, in his own bed, in his Guide's arms. 

"Let's get this over with," he said, standing up, pulling over a metal trash can. 

Blair nodded and began loading the files into it. 

"No evidence," Jim said, lighting a match, tossing it in, watching the blueprints of the torment inflicted on his fellow Sentinels go up in smoke. 

"Burn, baby, burn," Blair said very softly and Jim nodded. 

"Chief? I hate to ask you this but..." 

"I'm on it, man," Blair said, moving to the computer, knowing Jim would need his technical know-how to delete the electronic files and make sure they stayed that way. 

Jim watched him work. "I'm going to reformat the hard drive. That'll completely wipe out all traces of what was on it," Blair explained. 

Jim nodded. 

"Done," Blair said. 

"Good job, Chief," he said, putting a hand on his partner's shoulder. 

"Anytime you need evidence destroyed, I'm your man," he joked. 

"Don't let it become a habit," Jim warned, with mock seriousness, and then Blair felt him tense up. 

"What?" 

"Simon." 

A moment later their captain stood in the doorframe, taking in the residual smoke and ashes in the trash can, Blair seated at the computer looking guilty, Jim's completely neutral expression, which never signified anything good. 

He entertained a number of possible responses. Most included some kind of yelling; a few involved doing actual bodily harm to his best team. But finally he just sighed and said, "I don't even want to know what you did." And he turned on his heel and left. 

Blair let out his breath. Jim smiled. "I think in this case Simon's afraid to argue with Sentinel logic." 

"Hey man, let's not push our luck," Blair said. 

"I'm with you, Chief. Let's get out of here." 

"And go home." 

"That's the best idea I've heard in a long time," he said, putting an arm around his Guide, steering him out of the building, away from the nightmares that had occurred there, and into the pale gold light of the fine autumn day. 

* * *

Blair could feel Jim's soft, warm breath against the back of his neck. They had made love a little while ago, and Jim had fallen asleep, holding him, his chest pressed against Blair's back, arms encircling him. Blair lay in bed, listening to his love's calm, even breath, the most beautiful, lulling sound in the world. He could easily fall asleep himself, but he held out. This moment was too sweet to give up without a fight. It was as if the whole world were blanketed in stillness and peace, and he was so content. It was one of those rare moments in life when it was hard to imagine how things could be more perfect. He wanted to linger, luxuriate, enjoy it, for all it was worth 

Since they had come home again to the loft, together, reunited, a couple, Blair had never known such sweet satisfaction. It felt so good to be home. He and Jim had spent the first week christening the apartment anew, redoing it in small ways, making it a new place for their new life. Blair had moved his things into the upstairs bedroom, and they'd been at work turning his old room into a study. They'd rearranged the living room furniture and changed some of the decorations. It was important to them both that it at least _look_ different than the place where they had lost each other. Blair had burned sage throughout the loft, saying a simple prayer as he went, calling down the Spirit's blessing on their home and their union. And they'd made it their mission to love each other in every room, on the couch, on the floor, on the kitchen table, on the steps, in the shower, anywhere and everywhere, a solemn ritual, a joyful escapade, chasing away the ghosts, leaving behind the imprint of their love and passion in place of the harsh words and disconnection and bad memories that had come between them. 

It was only after they'd finished that Blair finally realized what had been missing all those months after he'd come home from the hospital. Although he'd been back at the loft, he'd never been home. He had never once felt at ease since the night Jim had packed his stuff and thrown him out, because the breach had still been between them. And home wasn't the loft. It was Jim. He could never feel settled, never be easy within himself as long as they were estranged from one another. 

Now that the ordeal with the other Sentinels was behind them, he'd started reading more of Elizabeth's work. It had given him insight into his own reactions in the aftermath of the fountain and why things were finally beginning to feel different. He could see now how the whole horrible situation with Alex had shaken the very underpinnings of his world. He'd come away from the terror at the fountain with his life but none of the things he depended on: his relationship with Jim, his belief in Sentinels, his faith in justice. That's why it had been so hard to make himself go down to the station, why he'd had to struggle to keep going with his research and his studies. At the center of his life was a bleak void, a lack of meaning so profound it threatened to consume him, a critical failure that made him feel dangerously close to collapsing in upon himself. And as nightmarish as it had been for Alex to come back, it had strangely turned out to be his saving grace. It had brought him back to Jim. It had restored his faith in Sentinels. It had at long last reconnected him to life. 

After the shootout with Alex and Dr. Graves, he, Jim, Elizabeth and Sam had all gone to the hospital with the seven injured Sentinels. Elizabeth had managed to help calm them and ease the discomfort of their erratic senses, until their Guides arrived, all just showing up, somehow knowing, just the way Sam had found Elizabeth. Once the Sentinels were reunited with their Guides, their recovery accelerated rapidly. When they were stable and cognizant of their surroundings, Elizabeth told them the whole story, a difficult task, since she blamed herself. 

"I knew I saw you there," Mark had said, the Sentinel she'd remembered passing in the corridor. 

She had only nodded, too choked by guilt to speak. 

He had put a hand on her arm. "I'm going to tell you what you once told me. Sometimes, it can be easier to blame yourself for what you never could have prevented than to accept that evil exists in the world. But it's important to realistically assess what you could have actually known and down versus what you only wish you could have done. And then you have to forgive yourself for all of it. Dr. Knowlton, I saw you there. I saw how you looked. This terrible thing happened to you too. And you're no more to blame for it than any of the rest of us." 

Somehow that had unleashed Elizabeth's buried pain, and she had broken down at last, crying with the other Sentinels, letting the grief out, beginning to let it go. When the Sentinels were released from the hospital, some of them went back to San Francisco with her, so they could continue to be together, to sort out what had happened to them, to work on healing as a group. Others had just wanted to go home and had left Cascade to return to their normal lives alongside their Guides. Elizabeth had destroyed every last vestige of her records on Sentinels as soon as she got back to her office. Now there was nothing left to indicate who any of them were, and they all just had to hope they would never again be put into such terrible jeopardy. 

Blair folded his arms over Jim's, stroking the soft skin on the backs of his hands. He had been waiting so long to feel like his old self again, and now he realized that would never happen. He knew something now that he could never unknow. He understood himself for the finite, mortal being he was. There was no turning back from that. In some ways, it had been the end of innocence, the loss of that very young belief that nothing could ever touch him. But it had also been the beginning of experience. In place of the old Blair was a new Blair, more solid, richer in wisdom. And in place of the old life was one informed by a sense of gratitude, by the knowledge that every moment was precious, rich in opportunity and so very ephemeral. He had never been more wide awake in his life. 

Some of the strange reactions he'd had to nearly dying were receding. And others were being transfigured into a celebration of life, like this not wanting to sleep thing. At first, right after he was released from the hospital, he'd had this desperate feeling, this unbearable, impossible wish that it would always be daylight and he could always be awake. He never again wanted to slip into that dark, cold place he'd managed to escape from, against all odds. But now he had turned a corner on the fear, and he didn't mind the night so much. It was no longer a symbol, simply the end of another day. He still found himself wishing a little wistfully that he could always be awake, and he would have stayed up as late as possible every night if it weren't for Jim's not-so-subtle urging for him to rest. He was at an itchy stage of recovery, and he was so restless, wanted so badly to possess life, couldn't get enough of it. There was so much he wanted to do, wanted to know, wanted to be. And he intended to have it all. 

Elizabeth had sent him a poem that one of her patients had given her, something that had helped her put things into perspective, something she thought might help Blair too: 

Final Notations by Adrienne Rich 

it will not be simple, it will not be long it will take little time, it will take all your thought it will take all your heart, it will take all your breath it will be short, it will not be simple 

it will touch through your ribs, it will take all your heart it will not be long, it will occupy your thought as a city is occupied, as a bed is occupied it will take all your flesh, it will not be simple 

You are coming into us who cannot withstand you you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you you are taking parts of us into places never planned you are going far away with pieces of our lives 

it will be short, it will take all your breath it will not be simple, it will become your will 

He had memorized it and let it play in his head like music as he went about his day. This life of his had been hard fought for, and he wanted to hold onto this shining moment of wisdom as long as possible, this understanding of what all the struggle was for. And the poem coalesced that knowledge for him. The thing he could never unknow was that it _would_ be short. It would end. Everything did. He was working to make peace with that inherent sorrow. But more and more, he felt that it truly was possible to live with the full force of his heart, his thought, his breath, his flesh. This new life of his afforded him a unique opportunity to channel all that energy into his love, his work, his studies, his responsibilities as Shaman. He could not imagine a more amazing gift than that, a very great blessing, born of fear and suffering and sorrow, his worst moment miraculously transformed into a life and purpose more vital than anything he could have ever imagined. 

He snuggled closer to Jim and let consciousness slip away at last, falling into a light sleep. In his dreams, he walked serenely through the jungle, safe, protected, at home. His path took him to the place which had become so familiar by now, where he understood, at long last, he'd always belonged. He approached the temple, without trepidation, with perfect calm and confidence. He touched the place in the facade where there was an opening, for those who could see it. The door swung open, and he went inside. It was cool and white and still, the center of the universe, timeless and unchanging. He found the spirit that bore his likeness lounging on one of the benches, naked and alive with energy, a force of nature. 

"You know now that you will always return to this place?" the spirit asked him. 

He nodded. "It's where I belong." 

The spirit regarded him thoughtfully. "Do you understand what it means to be truly naked?" 

Blair blushed slightly. "I'm not sure." 

"Yes, you are. You have only to set the knowledge free." 

"I guess...no more barriers." 

The spirit smiled. "Those who have learned the mystery no longer require protection. They can meet the world with true openness and gain all its secrets. When you hide nothing, nothing will be hidden from you. Your journey is only beginning, Shaman." 

As the spirit spoke, Blair felt compelled to draw closer, as if he could not look hard enough. He gazed deeply into those other eyes, which in some uncanny way really were his, and he saw many ancient mysteries, the secrets of the cosmos, things he would never be able to take with him back into the waking world, but which would be his to discover, at some point, all in good time. 

He jolted awake with a start, feeling a weight hovering over him and warm breath stirring against his lips, staring up into a different gaze, no less intense, pale blue depths he could lose himself in, for a lifetime. 

He parted his lips. Yes, he was really beginning to like this dream. 

End 

Feedback can be sent to Annabelle Leigh


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